


I Chose Disgrace, Where There Was No Honor In Obedience

by Barbara69



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbara69/pseuds/Barbara69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only once in his life had Tréville disobeyed orders from his king and he would be executed for high treason should Louis ever learn the truth. When Richelieu threatens to bring this secret to light, can Tréville hope for help from his loyal Musketeers or will they turn away from their captain, once they have learned the truth? </p>
<p>When things from the past come up, decisions have to be made, and more than one life is at stake... </p>
<p>Takes place between S 1 and S 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A BIG thank you to M_LadyinWaiting(Tanis) who patiently answered my numerous questions, gave hints, help and encouragement and was so kind to do the beta for this story!! All remaining mistakes and typos are my own.

He could not recall a time he had felt so tired and exhausted, not in all these years. Maybe it really was time for him to retire. Tréville opened the cabinet behind his desk, grabbed the bottle of Cognac he kept there and filled his glass with a a good measure of the golden liquid. The past couple of weeks had sucked almost all energy out of him. The business with the visit of the Duke of Savoy, and what came along with it. The increasing quarrels with Richelieu who seemed to gain more and more power over King Louis with each day that passed and he could do nothing more than stay alert and hold his ground. 

And now.... 

The day had not started well, with news of uprisings in the southern districts of France, where the people suffered after a long hot summer without rain, the cattle dying and the fields withering, which left them nothing to store away for the coming winter. And what meager yield they had managed to scrape together claimed by the tax collectors to go to the always empty state coffers. Already rumors were heard of self-declared preachers, seen here and there, who claimed to know who had brought the drought over the land, namely the Antichrist in the shape of King Philip of Spain, fueling the already anti-Spanish attitude further and rallying an increasing number of followers around them. 

He would have to send men to quell what could rise to a devastating storm, and so he had spent most of the day brooding over the map, trying to locate where he could gain the utmost success in crushing the riot without needing to send half of his regiment. In particular because he had only a limited number of Musketeers at hand to be sent away for a couple of days. The king was planning a hunting trip where a good dozen or more Musketeers would be needed to protect and entertain the entourage while the pregnant queen and her ladies stayed at the palace. So he also was in need of enough Musketeers for palace duty as well as the occasional delivery of missives should the queen require it. 

The summons from the cardinal had come just as Tréville had been about to make his way to the Louvre, to seek a private audience with the king to discuss his plans. Exhausted from the effort of trying to make the right decisions, he had only asked Étienne to get his horse ready and ridden to meet the cardinal, hoping that this was nothing more than just the usual complaint about how his Musketeers were harassing the Red Guards.

Only, it was not.

Tréville had kept his mien neutral, trying to not give away anything, but the revelation the cardinal had disclosed as lightly as if he talked about the summer rain everyone was hoping for, had shaken the captain to the core. Naturally, he had not admitted anything, and Richelieu surely had not expected him to, but his denial had been weak, even to his ears. He had called the accusations outright ridiculous and stated that he would no longer stand there and listen to them, and then he had taken his leave. The cardinal had made clear what he expected of Tréville, had even given him a choice, not that he really had one. 

Two days.

He had two days to make a choice which would ruin his life either way. But he would take that chance nonetheless, for to have his life taken from him on the gallows dishonorably and as traitor to his country surely was nothing he strove for. Not that there would be a life for him at all after choosing the other option, but with this he could at least accomplish one last service for king and country. Why Richelieu had not instantly and without warning crushed him with the utmost pleasure before the king, Tréville did not understand, and he didn't trust him either. But maybe this was the one concession the cardinal was willing to grant him, for after all, in the years they had worked closely together, both had served the same cause: to bring France the stability and greatness she deserved. 

For eleven long years Tréville had dreaded this day, known with unwavering certainty that it would catch up with him one day, that he would have to account for what he had done. But when the cardinal had brought it up boastfully and arrogantly as he was wont, knowing quite well how deadly a blow he was dealing, it had come to him as a shock nonetheless. 

But be that as it may, Tréville thought; he had already made his choice...

*******

Aramis had stared up to the balcony leading to the armory for a good three minutes, before Porthos deemed it proper to ask him if he would join them for the meal or if Porthos could eat what was piled on Aramis' plate. 

“Do not even think of it,” Aramis retorted, before finally lowering his head to look at his friends. D'Artagnan and Porthos were still busy with emptying their plates, but Athos looked expectantly towards Aramis. 

“Anything of interest up there?” the older man asked. 

Aramis let his eyes roam over his brothers once more before he answered. “I am not sure, but there is something not right with the captain. When he returned he seemed kind of .... not his usual self?” Aramis turned what he had intended to come out as a statement into a question, unsure how to express his feeling about the behavior of their captain.

“That's right,” d'Artagnan claimed with his mouth full, “when he came back he missed noticing that Arnaud and Gayot were waiting for him outside his office to report back, he just walked by them and vanished into his office.” 

The young Gascon furrowed his brow. “Though, when I think about it, it's not that unusual. Only the day before yesterday I stood a full five minutes in front of his desk to attention and he totally ignored me and did not give the slightest hint he even knew I stood there. Until suddenly he yanked his head up, looked at me and said 'make your report, Musketeer, I don't have all day', as if I had not been standing there forever,” d'Artagnan pouted. 

“And I am sure this has absolutely nothing to do with said Musketeer being more often than not rash, impetuous and anything but the epitome of obedience,” Athos stated, eyebrow raised and the mouth twitching as if he had problems restraining himself from smirking. 

“No, surley not---” d'Artagnan started, but trailed off when he heard Porthos laughing heartily and saw Aramis grinning ear to ear. 

“Now, that's not fair!” the young man growled, pouting even more, and made a fuss of pushing away his plate and rising to his feet. 

“Easy, whelp, we are just saying,” Porthos said, putting an arm around the Gascon's shoulder. “And this coming from Athos you can take as a compliment, not a criticism.” The big man winked at Athos. 

Before Athos could do anything more than throw an icy stare towards Porthos and squint his eyes, which was message enough, Aramis spoke. “Leaves us still with what mystery is behind the behavior of the captain.” The marksman emptied his plate, pushed it away from himself and grabbed his hat. “But I guess there's always tomorrow to solve it.”

They all rose from the table, grabbing hats, rapiers, harquebus and whatever else they had relieved themselves of before sitting down to eat dinner. 

“ _Messieurs_ , I'll see you tomorrow.” Porthos headed off to find himself a card game, while Athos announced he had a bottle with his name on it waiting for him, not forgetting to ask if d'Artagnan cared to join him. He had found that since the young Gascon had made his way into their midst, drinking alone was not as compelling as it used to be. In fact, he enjoyed the company of their youngest more often than not and if it left him drinking less than his usual quantity and helped him keep the shadows at bay, who was he to complain? 

D'Artagnan gladly accepted the offer to spend the evening with his mentor in a tavern. It was seldom enough that he was able to spend some time alone with Athos. Besides, there were always things to learn from the older Musketeer and by now he also felt comfortable enough in the company of his lieutenant, which had not always been so. Even if Athos was not in the mood to talk much, it would be an enjoyable evening nevertheless. 

Aramis could not be convinced to join either of them but insisted he had a warm bed waiting for him. So none of them saw the shimmer of light pouring out of the captain's office well into the early morning hours. 

*******

The next morning, Aramis was the last of the Inseparables to arrive at the garrison, but he walked in with a swinging step and in an exceptionally good mood. 

“ _Bonjour messieurs_ ,” he announced, full of verve, and with an elegance only the marksman could accomplish, pulled off his hat, bowing slightly. “Isn't it a wonderful morning!” 

Porthos grinned, “It is indeed, and I guess there is a very happy madame in Paris right now, whose bed is just cooling off. But please tell me you did not have to hop from a windowsill again. I'd hate if I had missed seeing it!”

“Ah, _mon ami_ , you live and learn,” Aramis retorted and collapsed on the bench beside Porthos. “I made sure that her husband is at least a day's journey away. It's so much more convenient if one does not have to rush out of bed with just his smallclothes on and can bid the lady a decent farewell. Now, would you pass me the cheese, d'Artagnan, I am starving.”

“Maybe you should not only make sure that the husband is absent from Paris but that there is no husband at all? You know, there a lot of agreeable widows out there. It would make the pleasure last a bit longer without having to leave the lady in the morning, and in a hurry at that.”

“Come now, Porthos, where would then be the fun in it?” The marksman smiled, eyes sparkling full of mischief.

D'Artagnan shook his head. “I'll never understand how you can so lightly talk about loving someone,” he murmured.

Athos, who sat beside d'Artagnan and had listened to the bantering of the other Musketeers without a comment, now glanced towards d'Artagnan. “Don't judge Aramis on the many affairs he has, or is said to have. He loves deeply, perhaps deeper than any of us is capable of, though it may not appear like it.”

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to protest, but Athos interrupted him, “Yes, we know, there's nobody who loves as wholeheartedly and passionately as you love the respectable Madame Bonacieux.” When he saw the hurt look on the young man's face he added, “There's no offense intended d'Artagnan, but you still have to learn a lot in life. Women can be scheming and cruel, and in the end you'll have your heart ripped out and left to bleed to death.” He paused and then continued, “If you are angry with me for saying so, then I'll gladly abide it if it keeps you from being hurt.” 

D'Artagnan was surprised by the serious words and the sad look accompanying them, and unsure how to respond. 

Athos glanced fondly over to Aramis who was busy with slicing pieces of meat, but nevertheless aware of the conversation his brothers had across from him, even though he gave no hint that he did so. “It's something our charming breaker of hearts has yet to experience,” Athos said loud enough for Aramis to hear it. And in a much softer voice even d'Artagnan had trouble hearing, he added, “Though I rather wish he never will for all his deep loving is helping him to keep his ghosts away.” 

“Athos. A word, please!” 

The shout from above startled the four Musketeers who were still busy with finishing off their meal. Athos looked up to give a sign of acknowledgment, but Tréville had already stepped back into his office. If his brothers wondered why the captain had only called upon Athos, no one voiced their thought, but Athos could see the questions in their eyes when he glanced towards them, probably the same question he himself had been turning over in his mind ever since he had set foot in the courtyard this morning. There was a slight change in Tréville's behavior, the way he carried himself. Like Aramis had voiced yesterday, something was not as it should be with their captain. Athos got up from the table, put on his hat and ascended the stairs to meet his captain's summons.

“What do you think?” Porthos was not sure if he liked this. “We in any trouble? I didn't brawl with no Red Guard,” he stated, and after a short pause “at least not this week.” 

Aramis followed Athos up the stairs with his eyes until he was out of sight. “I don't know, my friend, but I am sure Athos will find out soon enough. I told you there's something going on. D'Artagnan, are you going to keep that all to yourself or would you mind sharing some of it with your beloved brother?”

D'Artagnan startled. He hadn't been aware that he was still clutching the tankard with sweetened wine in his hands, still distracted from what Athos just had uttered as well as from the shout from Tréville. Aramis grabbed the tankard and filled his goblet, taking a gulp before putting away the last chunks of meat. For all the amenities he was wont to receive during a night he had the pleasure of spending in the presence of a willing lady, there never seemed to be enough time to get a proper disjune. He cleaned his dagger before sheathing it away and looked over to Porthos, who still stood with a frown on his face, trying to figure out the meaning of this all. 

“Come on Porthos, you will not solve this by staring into the air all day. Athos will tell us what the captain is up to upon his return.” 

******

Athos carefully closed the door and took a step towards the desk Tréville was already seated behind. He had not looked up when Athos had entered, nor had he shown the slightest inclination that he was aware of the Musketeer's presence, so Athos waited.

Finally, the older man looked up. If Athos had not had years of exercise schooling his face into a mask of indifference, now his face would have given away the surprise and shock he felt when he saw how the captain seemed to have aged between nightfall and daybreak. 

“Athos,” said captain now addressed his lieutenant, “today I will inform the king of my decision to resign my command. I want to suggest that he appoint you as commander of the Musketeer Regiment.” Tréville raised his hand to stop Athos, who just had regained his composure and was about to speak. “No, please let me finish. I know you will argue you do not deem yourself suited to lead the men, but you are. There is no one in this regiment with your upbringing and your strategic ability. I could not think of anyone better suited than you. If the king will accept my recommendation I would beg of you to accept the appointment.”

It seemed like Tréville wanted to add more, but could not find the words to do so. He looked away, turning his eyes on the papers in front of him, apparently dwelling on thoughts he was not inclined to share, and waited for any reaction from his lieutenant. 

Athos had not moved yet nor did he show if or how the short speech of his captain had affected him. After a moment's silence, which Athos used to scrutinize the older man before him, he voiced his answer. “No.” 

Tréville's head shot up and he looked sharply at the younger man. “Athos...”

“No. Tell me why.”

Tréville drew a deep breath before he spoke. “I already told you why. There is no one I could think of who is---”

“That is not what I mean. Why ever would you want to resign your command? You are a soldier thru and thru, you formed this regiment, you would never abandon your men. What's with your oath to serve the crown, faithful unto death?” Athos was utterly perplexed from the statement he had just heard and what could have transpired to lead to such a decision, and he let that confusion shimmer on his face and color his timbre. 

“It is not your place to speak to your captain in such a way, nor to question his decisions,” Tréville countered more sharply than he had wanted to. “It is my personal decision; I do not have to justify this to my subordinates, and if I think I have served enough for king and country who are you to question it?” 

Tréville was angry, not so much that Athos dared to question his captain's decisions, but more that he himself had nothing but weak arguments to proffer, leaving him with only the option to cut off any discussions before they could arise. 

“I am not asking as one of your soldiers,” Athos voiced with a touch of sadness in his tone, “I am asking as a friend.” He took a step towards the desk and Tréville slumped back into his chair. 

“I fear you will have to accept it as it is. You can think about it and let me know of your decision by midday; then I will inform the king.” Tréville looked away, eyes seeking something on the far wall, before he once again locked eyes with Athos. “I only ask of you that you consider it like a soldier would. You have sworn an oath to the crown, pledged to serve as best as you can. This is your chance to fulfill it.”

Tréville started shuffling with papers on his desk, not looking at Athos anymore, but speaking once more. “I always believed you to be a man of true honor, I hope I was not mistaken there.” 

Athos knew he was dismissed, but could not bring himself to move. This was ridiculous, or maybe more serious than he was able to handle. Tréville was a man of principles, he would not lightly make such a decision without intention to stay the course. 

“Was there anything else?” Tréville asked without lifting his head, already working on some papers, quill in his hand. 

“No, captain.” Athos darted one last glance towards the captain and took his leave. 

After the door had shut behind Athos, Tréville had trouble concentrating on the field reports and missives he tried to sort out on his desk. Maybe he should just stack them up to a neat pile on his desk, for tomorrow it would be none of his business anymore anyway. He sighed again. 

He knew his men were loyal to him, and the four Musketeers everyone now called the Inseparables for the rare bond which tied them firmly together, were perhaps even a little more unswerving than the rest of the regiment. More loyal than he deserved. 

They had learned of his role in the whole miserable business with the training exercise in Savoy, knew the truth behind his part in the slaughter of twenty fellow brothers as well as his involvement in the death of Marsac, whom he was responsible for all the same. And still, they had never treated him with anything less than honest respect and unconditional loyalty, both of which he felt more than unworthy of. How Aramis was able to still call him captain was a mystery to him, but he was glad that the decisions he'd had to make back then were accepted for what they were; the service a soldier was bound to render for his king, at all costs. 

Musing about these things, Tréville made a decision there and then. If Athos or one of his brothers came to demand answers, and here he was pretty sure that it wouldn't take long before one of them, or most likely all four of them together, would make an appearance within these walls, he would answer them truthfully. They deserved no less, for they had never forsaken him and if he wanted Athos to accept the position as captain of the Musketeer Regiment, then he needed to tell him the truth. Otherwise the Comte de la Fère would never even consider taking over the command, no matter how qualified he was, and then Richelieu would have once more prevailed. If it meant that afterwards they would no longer hold any respect for him, then that was everything he deserved. He would willingly pay the price if he could ensure the cardinal's plan to gain control over the Musketeers was thwarted. 

Tréville was still pondering over how much he would be willing to reveal, staring with blind eyes at the sheet he held in his hands, when he heard heavy boots hastening up the wooden stairs towards the balcony leading to his office.

There was a knock at the door and even before Tréville could open his mouth to answer it, the door was pushed open and Aramis entered with forceful strides and in a grim mood. Following behind him were Porthos, with a furious expression on his face, and d'Artagnan. Athos brought up the rear and closed the door with a soft thud. He stayed back at the door, while Aramis and Porthos had planted themselves in front of the captain's desk, not sparing the tiniest thought to whether or not they should stand to attention, but rather appearing threatening and irate. 

D'Artagnan lingered halfway between the door and the desk, unsure who he should side with. He still fought nerves whenever he had the bad luck to be on the receiving end of a dressing-down from the captain and it appeared the captain might be about ready to explode all over someone. The more promising decision, d'Artagnan deemed, would be to retreat back to Athos. That way he could at least put some distance between himself and Tréville. He stepped back, planted a shoulder to the wall, clamped his hands beneath his armpits and dipped his head, letting his hair fall forward to cover his eyes. It might be safer to wait for the storm to break from this vantage point. 

“'this true?” Porthos growled. 

Aramis swiped his hat off his head and took one more step closer to the desk, interrupting Porthos.

“I thought I must have misheard, because Athos here,” Aramis waved a hand back toward the door where Athos still stood watching the scene unfold, “just told us you are resigning your commission and giving up your command. Only, it seems, that's exactly what he said.” And after a short pause, he added "So, are you?” 

Tréville had kept a straight face as the men he held in higher esteem than anyone else he knew, had stormed into his office, anger rolling off them in waves, but now he had to look away. 

“Yes. And the rest is none of your business. Now leave my office. I am still your captain and this is an order!” He tried one last time to suppress their desire for answers with a rough voice. 

It lacked the usual sharpness he was able to add to his bawling out when he was furious about orders not obeyed, but it would still have been enough to shoo away at least half of his regiment, for everyone knew about the strict discipline and unquestioning obedience he demanded from every soldier under his command. Not so these four, and he knew it. Though they were the most loyal and brave soldiers he had ever met, they all seemed to lack a certain degree of self-preservation if confronted with orders not converging with whatever agenda they had set their minds on and were determined to see through. 

“This is the cardinal's doing.” Aramis asked, though it was more a statement than a question, not one bit impressed with the order they had just received.

Why ever he still was surprised about their sharp minds, Tréville did not know. But he knew that now was the moment to either tell the truth, if he wanted to save the Musketeer's Regiment from Richelieu's greedy hands, or order them to leave and forfeit the one chance to secure the survival of his men.

Porthos was still glaring, his hands continually in motion as if they needed to punch something or someone. Aramis had put one hand on his hip, the other still clutching his hat and it would not have taken much for him to start tapping his foot. 

Tréville remembered not long ago, when they also had come to him and asked for a truth he could not offer, had denied giving. Back then, they had accepted that he was not willing to share what was not for them to know. All but one. Aramis had not stopped there, had sought for the truth as if his life depended on it, and it very probably had. Tréville could not explain the relief he had felt after he had spilled out everything, the feeling that he could breathe again properly for the first time in long years. It had been like a stone, which had kept the sun out for too long, had been removed from the grave he was living in for the last years, cold and alone. 

Tréville swiped a hand over his face and looked up again. If this was the end for him, then he would bear it with his head held high. They had once before learned that he was not the man and captain they saw in him, maybe now it would be more than they would be willing to overlook. But it would still leave him with the one chance he had. And if afterwards Athos would be willing to accept the position as their new captain, it was all he could ask for, even if none of them treated him with respect any longer.

Tréville pushed himself up from his seat and walked over to the cabinet where he kept glasses and his good cognac. He filled five glasses with the fine liquor before he returned to the desk and put down four of them. 

“I think you might need this, at least I do.“ He downed his glass in one go. “Sit if you will, this is not a short story to tell.” 

Since there were not enough chairs available and none of them felt comfortable or calm enough to sit down anyway, the four friends just grabbed a glass of Cognac each, and started scattering around the room.

Unsurprisingly d'Artagnan was pulled towards Athos and leaned against the wall where Athos had already taken up position, while Porthos just stayed where he was, standing with his legs apart as if he had to prepare himself for the brewing storm. Aramis had set one foot on the lone chair in front of the desk, one arm propped up on the knee, and all eyes now looked expectantly to their captain. 

Tréville started to speak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers exchanged surprised glances. This was a statement they had never expected to ever hear from their captain.

“Yesterday Richelieu summoned me to tell me that he knew of my transgressions, at least of one of them; he claims to have found evidence of my insubordination. He has given me two days to resign, otherwise he will inform the king. Years ago I was ordered to personally see a woman, who was sentenced to life-long labor in the colonies, to a slave ship and leave the country.“

“And you did not?” Athos interrupted in a neutral tone, raising his left eyebrow in a questioning way. 

Tréville swiped a hand over his face before he answered. “No, I did not.”

“And.... because ...?” Aramis asked when it appeared the captain was not going to add anything more.

Tréville looked at each of them, debating how much he could reveal, how much he could rely on them. He saw only genuine worry and curiosity on their faces. So he continued. “It's a long story, nothing I am proud of nor anything to be condoned, but if I had to do it again I would do nothing differently and I will not apologize for what I have done.” 

“Then you are in dire need of our help, it seems, for it must be more than serious if your behavior is anything to go by. We cannot allow the cardinal to have any hold over you.” Aramis made his statement clear, speaking not only for himself, but also for his brothers. 

“Well spoken, Aramis.” Athos had shifted his stance and now looked to Tréville, his eyes barely visible underneath the brim of his hat, speaking on. “I think you should not give in to any schemes of the cardinal, and if we are to help you in this we need a little more information about what has transpired and how it comes Richelieu thinks he has any hold over you.” 

Athos moved closer to the desk, d'Artagnan doing the same. Aramis also shifted his position so they now stood in a half circle in front of Trévilles's desk, the latter the only one seated and now having to look up to his men, a situation he was used to but only to bark orders or give someone a dressing-down. Neither of which was now in store, and so he rose and walked over to the window where he stood, looking out into the sticky Parisian morning sky. 

Tréville still had his back to them when he started to speak again.

“I met Marie when she was a young girl. She was the daughter of Charles du Cambout, Marquis de Coislin, and it was always out of the question that she would ever marry anyone less than a Marquis. Not that these are things which mean much to you when you are young.” Tréville paused, still staring out of the window, seeing something far away and long gone.

In a soft tone Aramis asked, “Did you love her?”

The captain seemed to stiffen for a moment before all tension seeped out of him and his shoulders dropped. “Yes, I did”, he admitted in a hushed voice. And with a fond note and a sigh in his voice, scarcely audibly, he added “and I still do.” 

The brothers exchanged surprised glances. This was a statement they had never expected to ever hear from their captain. 

Speaking of love and disobeying orders, and most likely orders from the king at that, was something they had not thought the captain would be capable of. They had never known him as anything else than dutiful and loyal to the crown.

They startled when Tréville started speaking again. “Then she was married to Bernard de Nogaret, _Duc_ d'Epernon, and moved away. And I joined the regiment. De Nogaret was not a bad man and I think he really cared for Marie, but he was also over-ambitious and the main supporter and closest ally of Maria de' Medici when she rallied forces and tried to dethrone her son and seize power again. These were chaotic times, France on the brink of civil war, though blessedly we were able to prevail. Louis was furious, Maria de' Medici sent into exile and every supporter he could lay hands on was executed without trial, as was his right to do. All lands and possessions went to the crown, the families banished from France, stripped of every title and wealth. Those closest to the supporters were banned to the colonies, a hard life full of deprivation ahead of them. It was my duty to see the edict carried out and deliver those poor souls to the galleys.” 

Tréville turned to face the Inseparables before he continued. “To make it short: I arranged to take the _Duchesse_ d'Epernon personally and as sole prisoner to the waiting slave ships at Honfleur. Though she never boarded a ship. I took her to the Ursuline convent in Évreux where she was admitted into the order, or so I believe. I have never seen nor heard from her again. Not until yesterday when Richelieu claimed to know everything, or at least that he knows that Marie is still alive and living in France.” 

“So, you never went to Honfleur?” Porthos asked. He seemed the only one able to voice a question, the others too stunned by what they just had heard. 

“Oh, I certainly did” Tréville answered. “I not only continued on my way to Honfleur, I also delivered a women to the slave ship, so no one would perceive anything and I could pretend that everything was in order.”

“But who did you take to the ship if not the duchess?” d'Artagnan asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. Had Tréville sacrificed an innocent woman for the sake of the woman he loved? The Gascon peeped over at his brothers, trying to assess their reaction to what Tréville had just said. He had never thought their captain was capable of doing injustice willingly, but then again, he could hardly believe a word of what the older man had just confessed.

“After I had delivered Marie to the convent I continued on my way towards Honfleur, unsure how I should explain that I had mysteriously lost my prisoner on the way. Fortunately for me, that evening I came across an inn where I intended to feed my horse and have a bite to eat. There was a huddle on the street before the inn, and as soon as the people recognized me as a Musketeer they begged me to execute what they believed to be their right. They were in the process of hanging a woman for murdering her husband. Her abusing and brutalizing husband, which I later found out. Needless to say there had been no trial. With quite some effort I was able to educe what had transpired from the man who seemed to be in charge, and I told them I would take charge of the delinquent and see the matter brought before the court. Simply put, I continued on my way towards Honfleur, and offered to deliver the poor woman to the galley with the prospect of a hard life in the new world instead of taking her to Paris to see her hanged. She made her choice and I had done what I thought best for all involved.” 

There was silence in the room, the brothers unsure how they should react to what the captain had just disclosed. Tréville, awaiting how his men would act on what he had revealed, returned to his desk, searching the faces of the men before him for any hint of dismay or disdain. What he found was astonishment and bafflement. 

Aramis scratched his head and was the first one to voice his thoughts. “We speak with the queen. She knows how cold and calculating Richelieu is when pursuing his goals. She has made clear enough what will happen to him should he try to play his foul tricks to manipulate affairs that are not his own. She can help.” 

“No.” Tréville immediately responded in a determined tone. “What I have done is treason and not even the queen, as lenient and well-disposed she might be, could overlook this.” 

Aramis tried again, deaf to his captain's reasoning. “She would understand. You did it not to gain leverage but out of love, and that's something she would understand, I am sure of that.”

“Aramis, she is the Queen of France.” Tréville raised his voice to emphasize what he tried to intimate. “Love has no place in the world she lives in, decisions are not made based on feelings but due to what is necessary for the future of the nation. She was a child when she was married to Louis, and not out of love. She knows nothing of true love, only duty.” 

“Your are wrong! She surely knows enough of love to see the reason behind your doings. She might be able to intervene with the king,” Aramis replied heatedly, before he could get a hold of himself again and shut his mouth. He looked down at his hands, coughed slightly and took a step back to halt beside Porthos. 

Tréville squinted his eyes and looked Aramis over. There was something going on with the marksman when matters related to the queen were brought up, but he could not put a finger on it what it was. It was more the way Athos and Aramis exchanged glances and a certain degree of nervousness surrounding the marksman than anything else. But maybe he was reading more into this than really was there. There would be time later to get to the bottom of this. Now they had more dire problems to resolve. 

Athos picked up the conversation again, but not before throwing an unmistakable glance towards Aramis, who guiltily looked away. “We cannot be certain that Richelieu really knows anything at all, let alone has any evidence. For all we know, he could be trying to blackmail you with nothing in his hands.” 

D'Artagnan intervened as well. “Don't confess to anything, by all means! Anyone who was there back then knows of your assignment and the names of the traitors, and your origin. What if the cardinal just heard a rumor and is bluffing in an attempt to see how you react?” 

Tréville shook his head, tired and exhausted. “I don't know, but the risk is too great.”

Porthos, who had listened to the conversation for a while without adding anything, now addressed his captain in a determined tone. “Aramis and I will ride to the convent and see what the situation is there. If there is a threat, we will sort it out.” 

Tréville interrupted sharply. “I will not see any harm done to the duchess, or the nuns, should she really still be there.” He wanted to add more but was halted by d'Artagnan. 

“If Richelieu really has found evidence, nothing will protect the duchess or the nuns from the king's wrath. They will all go down with you. We must act at once, our only chance is to be one step ahead of the cardinal. There is still time before you must inform him of your decision.”

“D'Artagnan is right, if we leave now, and change horses on our way, we could be there by sundown.” Aramis had put on his hat again, standing beside Porthos, both ready to go, only awaiting the permission from their captain to do so. “No woman there will come to harm. You have my word.”

“And mine,” Porthos added with a serious, determined face, his eyes full of the devotion he felt for his captain.

Tréville locked eyes with Athos, for the comte was the one man out of the four who never seemed to make rash decisions, who's choices were always rational and carefully thought out. Athos held the gaze of his captain, and nodded slightly once. So Tréville made his decision, knowing quite well that if he had decided against this proposal, they very likely would see it through regardless. 

“You have time until tomorrow afternoon, then I will inform the king of my resignation. Let's hope the cardinal is true to his word and doesn't do anything before the expiration of time he has given me.” He did not want to think about what would await him should he have to stand trial before the king. Would all the years he had loyally served grant him Louis' benevolence in this matter? He knew the sovereign too well to set any hope on that. His fate now lay in the hands of his Musketeers, and Richelieu. 

Porthos and Aramis bolted out of the office the moment Tréville closed his mouth, not awaiting any further instructions. They split up without having to exchange words; Aramis headed to the quarters to stock up arms and provisions they would need for the short trip while Porthos made his way over to the stables to get their horses ready with the help of Jacques. Within a quarter-hour after leaving Tréville's office they were ready to leave the garrison. Tréville, Athos and d'Artagnan had gathered in the courtyard to see them off. 

Aramis and Porthos were already mounted and Athos stepped to the marksman, gripping his upper arm. “Godspeed, my friends.” He looked over to Porthos, who gave a resolute nod. 

“Make haste and come back safe and sound and with good news.” D'Artagnan released the reins of Porthos' mount and gave both men a cheerful smile. Tréville nodded towards the departing Musketeers in place of a proper goodbye. They all knew how crucial this journey was, and its outcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have orders from Cardinal Richelieu, on behalf of His Majesty. Captain Tréville, you are accused of high treason and to be taken immediately to the chatelet where you will await your trial before the king tomorrow. I beg you to follow these orders without delay.”

As soon as they were through the garrison archway, Porthos and Aramis spurred their horses and turned left, riding at a smart trot through narrow crowded alleys until they reached the town gate. They left Paris with the church bells distantly announcing the tenth hour of the day, heading west at full gallop and soon entered the forêt de Rouvray near Boulogne-sur-Seine. They were relieved once they had entered the cool and shady forest, for even though the sun had not yet reached its peak, the air around them glistened with heat and their breeches and jerkins were dark with sweat. Porthos slowed down his horse and Aramis followed suit, allowing their horses to recuperate a bit from the extended canter. Aramis pulled out his waterskin and took a gulp before he yanked a kerchief out of his pocket and wiped his sweaty face. 

“If it stays this hot, I believe we have to change horses earlier than Rosay, which will delay us even further if we have to change once more,” Porthos declared and looked over to Aramis. “And in this heat the horses will have problems maintaining this speed.”

“I know.” Aramis took another gulp from his waterskin, before stowing it away again. “We can only hope that we will not have to face any additional trouble that might cost us precious time. Do you remember last year when we had to deliver that package to the English ship waiting in Le Havre?” A smile formed on his face as he remembered that incident.

Porthos let out a guffaw, and they continued on their way through the forest while chattering about one incident or other they had experienced together, though always observing their surroundings watchfully and keeping their guard up. After a while, they spurred their horses into tantivy again. 

******

After Aramis and Porthos had left the Garrison, Tréville gave orders to those men who were not already assigned to a task. Afterwards he returned to his office to work on the information he had about the uprisings as well as the schedule for the hunting trip to the Meudon forest, where Louis and his entourage would take up residence at the palace in Chaville. The _château de Chaville_ was not as easy to guard as the Louvre palace due to the expansive, unsymmetrically arranged gardens, as well as the castle itself, which was full of nooks and crannies. He would need more men to guard the place than he usually would assign to a hunting trip. Tréville sighed. How many would be sufficient? He was having problems concentrating on his task, with his thoughts continually returning to the two Musketeers on their way to Évreux. 

Athos had been assigned to overseeing the preparations for the upcoming missions, including making sure that enough arms and powder were ready and prepared for the deployment of Musketeers as well as to visit the kitchens to see if enough supplies were in stock for both missions, the latter with the help of Serge. It was not a task Athos was overly fond of, but as long as it kept him occupied and prevented him from dwelling on his thoughts, he didn't mind.

D'Artagnan was with a group of recruits and younger Musketeers, working on their shooting skills with both harquebus and muskets in the backyard, which kept him occupied as well. 

Around noon d'Artagnan and Athos met at the kitchen table in the courtyard to have a quick meal together, musing about how Porthos and Aramis were progressing on their way to the convent. 

After the midday meal, d'Artagnan returned to working on his skills with the other recruits, this time on hand-to-hand combat with swords and rapiers. The heat, which hung over Paris like a thick blanket, caused the men to sweat heavily, and more often than not one of the fighters was blinded by sweat running in his eyes and the training sessions were slow and continually interrupted. The few Musketeers who were not on palace duty or otherwise assigned, had sought the sparse shadows and were either cleaning their weapons in slow and sluggish movements or snoozed, in the hopes the captain would not see it. 

Athos was working with Tréville on details for the upcoming missions, discussing troop strength, route planning, weaponries and the classification of Musketeers for the various tasks. Due to the unbearable heat the windows and doors had been left open, begging for a breeze to at least bring some relief. They had been working efficiently for a while when they became aware of a commotion in the courtyard. 

Tréville, who had been on his way over to the shelf containing maps and plans, halted in the process and looked over at Athos. The latter shrugged, indicating he had no idea what the noise could be about, but finally rose from his seat to join Tréville who had already move out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. What they saw instantly produced a frown on both men's faces. 

Down in the courtyard stood the captain of the Red Guards, flanked by six of his soldiers. When Tréville stepped onto the balcony, they all looked up, and their captain immediately started to speak.

“We have orders from Cardinal Richelieu, on behalf of His Majesty. Captain Tréville, you are accused of high treason and to be taken immediately to the chatelet where you will await your trial before the king tomorrow. I beg you to follow these orders without delay.” 

The captain of the Red Guards' voice had been loud and determined, daring anyone to disregard his orders. When he saw the Musketeers from the courtyard gathering around him and his men, and not in a friendly way, he addressed Tréville again. “It would be in your own interest to follow this order without resistance. Hand over your weapons and command your men to maintain order.”

Athos muttered angrily that he should have known that Richelieu was not a man who honored his given word. Tréville was gripping the railing so hard his knuckles appeared almost white, but otherwise he gave no sign that he was shocked or surprised by what was happening in his courtyard. 

“Go back to the tasks you have been assigned,” Tréville ordered his men. “Athos will be responsible for the rota as of tomorrow. If you have questions, he will be in charge.”

Tréville turned his gaze to the captain of the Red Guards. "Neither my men nor I will give you any trouble. But you will have to wait until I can hand off the watch to my second-in-command," he said calmly. He turned and strode back into his office. 

Athos, glancing down to make certain the Red Guards remained where they were, followed Tréville back into the office. He wanted to be sure no one had any intention of angrily storming the stairs - in either company. 

The Musketeers had immediately returned to their prior activities, but not before throwing unmistakable glances towards the source of their annoyance. Most picked up what they had done before, but they sat or stood in small groups now, conversing in hushed voices about what could have happened to get their captain arrested. Everyone knew of the simmering antipathy the cardinal nursed towards their captain and the whole Musketeers regiment, while Captain Tréville had always ensured that no hint of his own thoughts on his dealings with the cardinal became public knowledge. 

Tréville closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as he stepped back into the office. He rubbed his hands over his face a couple of times, trying to muster the strength he would need to see this through. Then he squared his shoulders and raised his head, turning towards Athos who had just stepped into the room. They looked at each other for a moment, neither of them venturing an opinion on what had just happened. There was no need for it. 

“I trust you will see to all matters here while I am away. I may not return here, you know this. I --” Tréville's voice faltered and before he could continue, Athos began to speak.

“They _will succeed_.” 

There was no need to mention names; both men knew who Athos was referring to. 

“Never doubt it, do not doubt them. You are not alone in this and it is not the end yet!” Athos stepped closer, his hands twitched as if he wanted to reach out to the captain but dared not do so. 

“I have never doubted any of you. Not ever,” Tréville responded, voice husky with emotions leaking through. He cleared his throat before he continued. “Take care of your men, Athos.” 

The captain turned around and let his glance roam over the room for one last time. Then he turned around again abruptly and walked past Athos out of the room. 

Athos did not move, he looked after Tréville wondering if this might be the last time he saw his captain. He refused to believe it, silently willing his brothers to make haste and bring back the urgently needed exoneration.

While most of the Musketeers had scattered in the courtyard pretending to be occupied, d'Artagnan waited at the foot of the stairs, darting malignant glances towards the men of the Red Guard. His hand rested threateningly on the pommel of his rapier and Tréville was convinced if only one of the Red Guards made a false move, d'Artagnan would take on every last one of them in a heartbeat. And win, too. At least the first round. 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Tréville allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. He was sure the young Gascon could rise above all the men here, if he lived long enough to see the day, and he was glad that he had had a small part in the commissioning of the young man. 

Tréville looked towards the Gascon as he reached the end of the stairs and saw the desperation in the man's eyes. 

“We will not let you down, captain. You will be back soon.” d'Artagnan was trying to comfort his captain, but it was hard when despondency had already claimed one's heart. 

Tréville briefly clasped the shoulder of his youngest recruit in passing, thankful for the support but not convinced of the words the young man had expressed, and then addressed the captain of the Red Guards. "Lets go."

Athos had stepped out onto the balcony in time to see his captain, flanked by the detested Red Guards, leave the garrison through the archway. 'Have faith' he thought, though he was not sure if this was directed to Tréville or to himself. He had a sudden and painful longing for Aramis' presence. The marksman would tell him that God would not forsake the just and that he should not worry. And for once he would be inclined to do just that. To let himself be lulled by the powerful faith of his brother, that everything on earth was directed by God and those who were honest and faithful would succeed in the end. Now more than ever he envied Aramis for his unswerving faith which gave him hope where Athos could see none.

******

Blistering heat glimmered over the arid landscape as Porthos and Aramis left the shielding forest, the heat soon leaving both riders and horses sweat-soaked and with dwindling strength, nevertheless they continued on their way westwards regardless of the blazing sun. They had already had to change horses at Jumeauville, their steeds almost at the point of collapse. The two Musketeers had taken time only to wash away the worst of the dust and sweat on their faces with the cold water from the well, and then quenched their thirst and grabbed something to eat before continuing on. 

It was late afternoon when they entered the forest of Évreux, their horses surprisingly still capable of carrying their riders the remaining few miles. 

“We should try to find a creek or pond where we can wash away the grime” Porthos voiced, looking Aramis up and down. “I am not sure if the pious sisters will welcome us if we look like brigands.”

Aramis laughed. “Indeed, more like we would have the door slammed in our faces rather than be allowed to state our business and reveal ourselves to the good sisters as King's Musketeers.”

They were both tired and worn out, and the heat of the day had left its mark on them. The Musketeers had not only pushed their horses to their limits, and beyond, but also themselves. The fear that they would not reach the convent in time to return to Paris within the given time limit had been great, but also fear of what awaited them there. If what Richelieu claimed to know was true, then there probably was not much they could do to help their captain. Should the duchess still be at the convent, there might not be enough time to spirit her away, out of reach of the long arm of Richelieu. And both men knew that the net of spies Richelieu had cast over France was widespread and tightly woven. 

Moreover, the betrayal of Maria de' Medici was something the king would never forget and never forgive. It was a festering wound that would never heal. If Louis had been willing to behead his own mother for her attempt to dethrone him, then the life of someone like their captain would mean less than nothing to him. The moment he learned of Tréville's insubordination, and had it proved, the captain's life would be forfeit. With these thoughts and fears in their hearts they had pushed on and on, willing to defend and fight for their captain to the bitter end.

After a while they indeed found a small creek where they halted the horses, the steeds immediately starting to drink greedily while the two men relieved themselves of their weapons, pauldron and shirt and washed on the quick. 

“I think it won't be more than an hour until we reach Évreux, probably less. We could be just in time for the nuns to have finished vespers which will give us enough time before they gather for compline.” Aramis spoke while he was donning his shirt and also his doublet. 

Earlier both men had relieved themselves of any expendable garment while riding in the heat of the day. Now they dressed properly so the nuns would quickly recognize them as Musketeers. When Porthos had finished with dressing they sized each other up, satisfied with what they saw. While it was far from fitting to make an appearance before the king, it was all that could be expected after such a forced ride in this heat, and would have to do for the nuns. 

Porthos grabbed the reins of his horse and mounted, waiting only long enough to see Aramis do the same before he spurred his horse into full gallop, eager to finally reach their destination. 

They soon saw the bell tower of the abbey church rise from the woods surrounding the convent and rode up to the buildings where they received a friendly greeting from the nun who had been detailed to guard the gate. 

“Good afternoon, good sister, we are King's Musketeers and urgently need to speak with your abbess.” Aramis gave his most charming smile and it did not fail to have the desired effect. 

The nun stood and waved to another sister who was just crossing the courtyard. “Sister Teresa will take you to the mother superior and care for your horses,” she said and added, directed to the approaching sister, “Teresa, please show these Musketeers where they can find Mother Jeanne and then look after their horses.”

Porthos and Aramis were led to the vast garden on the right side of the convent, which seemed to stretch from the cloistered courtyard to the far walls marking the border to the woods behind. Though it was already late in the day and not long before the nuns would have to gather for compline, which marked the end of their working day, the garden was filled with nuns who all seemed busy with various tasks. Given the dry heat the people had been suffering for long weeks now, the nuns surely were trying to save whatever they could from withering, Aramis mused. Sister Teresa signaled them to wait while she hurried along neatly trimmed paths to fetch the abbess. 

The woman who came towards them out of the garden a short time later was of middle age, or so they guessed, for it was hard to judge the age when you could only see a part of the face. When she was nearer, it became clear that she must be older than her bouncing gait implied, for her face already showed no small number of wrinkles. Though, Aramis guessed, most of them stemmed not from age but from laughing, if the many fine lines around her eyes and her mouth were anything to go by. Devoting one's life to God was not as harsh and full of deprivation as some tried to make people believe, he thought. 

“Ah, King's Musketeers,“ the mother superior stated, once she had come to a halt in front of Aramis and Porthos. “I hope you are not here to bring bad tidings of the king. My cousin tends to attract trouble too easily, considering how childishly he often behaves.” The last part of the sentence was muttered to herself, quietly enough that she did not expect the Musketeers to hear it. 

Porthos and Aramis, who had slightly bowed in greeting of the abbess, looked up surprised.

“Cousin?” Aramis asked. “You are related to the king?”

“Why yes. Are you not here on behalf of Louis, to bring a missive or else?” The nun looked at them assessingly. “I am Mother Jeanne by the way, His Majesty King Louis is my first cousin once removed. So, pray tell what you are here for then.” 

“Well,” Aramis shifted nervously, “I fear it's a highly delicate matter, and of a more private nature rather than official business.” 

He glanced towards Porthos, who was kneading his hat for lack of anything else to do with his hand. 

“Maybe we can discuss this in a less exposed surrounding?” Aramis had quickly recovered and was now his usual charming self, smiling warmly towards the abbess, his eyebrows perked up in anticipation.

The mother superior squinted her eyes, looking from Aramis to Porthos and back. “Well, all right then.” 

She turned and started to walk left towards the inner courtyard, assuming that the two Musketeers would follow her without further invitation. The two had only just taken a few steps when the nun suddenly stopped in her tracks, turned around and pointed towards Porthos. “But you will be the one to explain this whole business, Monsieur.” 

Looking towards Aramis, she added “I know the likes of you, young man, but your charm and good looks are a waste of time and effort with me. Let's see how convincing your friend here is.”

With this she turned around again and walked off.

Porthos started sweating, throwing a helpless look towards Aramis, who only shrugged, which offered no comfort for the bigger man. That did not bode well. Of the four brothers Porthos was probably the one less talented at making eloquent and convincing conversation, and with the task they had ahead he was more than desperate after the directive of the nun. Though he feared nothing and was more than capable of standing his ground no matter what trouble he was confronted with, diplomacy was not his strong suit. It was something Porthos had never needed in his life, talking with one's fists was so much easier. 

Athos was a master at courtly manners and eloquent conversation, though he rarely made use of it, and Aramis had the gift of charming anyone and everything into doing whatever the marksman had set his mind on. There never had been a need to learn the art of conversation with his brothers at his side. Dwelling on these thoughts, Porthos followed Aramis who had already started to trail behind the abbess. 

They were led into a small room which seemed to be the chamber designated for receiving guests as well as the paperwork the abbess had to handle in her capacity as Superior of a convent. The furnishings were austere and aside from a desk, leaden with papers and books, and two chairs on either side, there was only a small bookshelf, filled with old tomes and writs, and a stool in the corner. 

The mother superior seated herself behind the desk, looked up expectantly towards the two younger men and signaled for Porthos to start. Porthos, extremely uncomfortable with the role he had been assigned, coughed slightly, shuffled his feet and tried to figure out how to start.

“Madame, um, er, Mother Jeanne, I am Porthos and this is my brother Aramis from the King's Musketeers. We have come to, er, investigate in a, hmm, trickily matter and to seek your assistance in this, ah, matter ---”

He was interrupted when a young nun appeared in the door way. Three heads turned towards her, Mother Jeanne giving her permission to speak.

“Mother, just this minute further riders have arrived. They state that they are Red Guards, sent by Cardinal Richelieu on behalf of His Majesty the King in a matter of utmost urgency. They need to speak with you immediately.” The nun looked flustered and out of breath, as if she had run all the way up to this chamber. 

The abbess looked towards Porthos and Aramis who seemed to have paled considerably since the arrival of the young sister and who now exchanged a somber glance. 

“What a strange coincidence. We have not had visitors for months, and then we receive two of the King's Musketeers and a contingent of Red Guards within the hour, both parties claiming to have urgent business.” 

Mother Jeanne rose from her seat, signaling the young novice with a short nod and a gesture of her hand that she should let the new arrivals know that she was on her way. “Well, Messieurs, since the cardinal himself has sent his men on official and urgent business on behalf of my cousin and yours seems to be of a more private nature, I am inclined and beholden to answer the summons from the cardinal before anything else. I will handle your matter after my return. Please wait here.”

She turned towards the door and was quickly gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While they had waited for the trial to start, he had desperately watched for any signs that Aramis and Porthos had returned to Paris, but no message had come, not from the garrison and not from his brothers.

At the garrison, Athos had returned to the office and was trying to sort through all the letters, field reports and inquiries on the captain's desk. 

“D'Artagnan, stop!” he barked at the Gascon.

D'Artagnan stopped in his tracks and looked over at his lieutenant, surprised by the harsh tone. For the last half hour or so he had been pacing up and down the small room, not that he had been aware of doing so. 

“Wearing a trench in the floorboards does not help the captain, and you're giving me a headache I don't need right now. This paperwork is enough to give anyone a headache.” Athos pulled out his comte stare, left eyebrow raised. “Stop pacing or I'll may have to shoot you.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you, but I can't just sit down and wait for Aramis and Porthos to report back. What if they don't succeed?” 

Athos saw and sympathized with the desperate look on the young man's face, but he would not allow him to walk another couple of miles in this room. “I know,” Athos agreed with a bit more forbearance, “but it won't serve either of them nor expedite things if we drive ourselves to distraction with....”, he trailed off waving vaguely towards d'Artagnan, “this.” 

“There must be something we can do,” d'Artagnan pleaded anxiously. “Even if it's just going to see the captain in the chatelet. He's had time to think now, maybe he's thought of another plan or something else that might help us to help him.” It felt as though he'd been the one caught and caged, trapped like an animal. Morning, and the mockery of trial their captain faced, was marching toward them at double time; with each passing hour, d'Artagnan's panic was growing by leaps and bounds. 

“That occurred to me, too, but it won't help us with anything.” Athos let his gaze roam over the desk with all the papers. “I think I have an idea, though, how we might help the captain, at least a little.” He reached for the quill and rummaged for a blank sheet among the litter on the desk. “If nothing else, it will at least give the cardinal a headache, which might be helpful for tomorrow's trial.” The corners of his mouth twitched with a smirk. “Get our horses ready, we're going to visit the cardinal. Make haste!”

D'Artagnan's face brightened immediately and with a shouted 'consider it done' and a grin he was out the door before Athos had even dipped the quill into the ink. With a shake of his head Athos started scribbling on the sheet of paper he'd finally found. 

*******

After a short but forceful exchange of words with the two Red Guards standing to attention outside Cardinal Richelieu's office, Athos pushed open the doors shaking off the soldier who was still trying to stop him. 

“If you wouldn't mind, Your Eminence,” he immediately addressed the cardinal, “call off your dogs before I silence their babble by more effective means. I'm not in the mood for this, I have urgent business I need your counsel on.” He easily eluded the hand trying to get a grip on him and strode into the office, d'Artagnan following on his heels. 

Richelieu, who had been working at his desk, had risen as the doors slammed open. “Fools, all of you!” he barked. With a snap of his fingers and a sharp look he silently ordered his Red Guards out of the room. “How dare you intrude on me like this! But, then again, what else should I expect from a Musketeer,” the cardinal sneered with a disgusted look, “Explain yourself! And make it quick.” 

Athos closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. “Since Captain Tréville is _temporarily_ unavailable, for reasons you are aware of, I need your assistance in handling a few high priority matters.” 

“As far as I am informed you are his second-in-command. Surely you are capable of conducting affairs. As the Comte de la Fère you administer an estate far more complex than a mere garrison. Do not pester me with such things.” Richelieu sat down, the Musketeers dismissed as far as he was concerned. 

“Your Eminence, I have a host of underlings who handle the irksome affairs of running an estate for me. I am totally stymied without assistance,” Athos countered dryly, his face blank.

Richelieu squinted at him, trying to assess the truth of the words. “Don't play games with me, monsieur, you are in no position to win.” And because he was at heart a Machiavellian manipulator and could not pass up an opportunity to get his fingers in another pie, "What is this urgent business?”

“With Tréville away for at least another day, though we're certain this is all a misunderstanding and the captain will be back by noon tomorrow, and since we are already desperately short on a couple of extremely urgent things we need, I must apply to someone who is entitled to acquire goods and assign market traders with deliveries of the necessary supplies. As First Minister of France and Chancellor you have the authorization to sign any such requests without having to bother the king, which otherwise we would have to do, since I have no idea how Captain Tréville handles matters of payment and any further particulars, or even if he has the authority to do so at all. If we do not immediately acquire this list of supplies, I'm afraid we will not be capable of serving the King as is expected of us, though no doubt His Majesty would be furious beyond measure if something were to happen to him or – god forbid – the _enceinte_ queen due to our inability to protect them properly, with no one available to assume responsibility and ensure the delivery of essential supplies in order for the Musketeers to execute their duty properly. _Especially_ with all the uprisings Tréville was receiving reports about and where prompt action is required, and again, said action can only be taken if we have the appropriate supplies on hand. And I am not speaking of cloaks or boots for the soldiers.” Athos paused to take a breath before he added. “I am sure you, eminence, would be the first person the king would turn to for answers as to why things are in such disarray. Without the authority to order these things, _my_ hands are tied.” The comte lifted a shoulder in an eloquent shrug, “Though .... I'm sure the king would understand completely that things are in shambles because his most loyal servant is in the chatalet and there's no one else with the authority or willing to sign for supplies and such. Wouldn't he?” Athos declared with dry sarcasm. 

From the look on Richelieu's face, he was probably only minutes away from a severe migraine. 

D'Artagnan, who had listened with ever-widening eyes, now looked back and forth between Richelieu and Athos, attempting to hide his astonishment. He had never heard so many words spoken by Athos in such a short time. In fact, Athos had probably just delivered more words than he had uttered during the whole time d'Artagnan has known him now. Not to mention all the things the Musketeer had listed that d'Artagnan had not once spared a thought about. He certainly hoped all this belonged to whatever plan Athos had developed to help their captain. Not that the lieutenant had shared any of his thoughts on the way to the cardinal's residence, but then no one really expected much talking from Athos, he was a man of action, one who spoke little but accomplished a lot. Well, at least until today, d'Artagnan thought to himself.

“Fine, give me that list and show me where and what you want me to sign.” Richelieu barked indignantly, “It can't be that much, Tréville has only been gone half a day,” he concluded, making an aborted attempt to grab the sheet of paper from Athos. 

“True, but the captain was in the process of handling this and he is a man of great mind. He seldom needs lists or papers to organize the daily routine. I have spent the afternoon making inquiries around the garrison and taking stock of things.” Athos' guileless blue eyes met Richelieu's barely checked fury. “I had to make a list.” 

He looked down at the paper in his hands and seemed surprised about what he saw. “Perhaps I should explain it to you since it's so poorly written and probably not understandable to one who is not familiar with soldiering,” Athos declared in his best sympathetic voice, knowing quite well what a sharp mind Richelieu had and therefore the likelihood of knowing such things. “The first problem is with the stables. Apparently our provisions of hay and oats are down to nothing, there should have been a delivery two days ago according to Jacques, our stable boy. It did not come and we have nothing left to feed the horses. Which, of course is bad, as half of our livestock are already showing signs of malnourishment. The same applies to the stocks on hand in the kitchens. Ahem, not the malnourishment obviously, I mean the provisions. Serge informed me,” Athos interrupted himself and looked up, “Serge is responsible for the kitchens and long-serving in the regiment.” 

Yes, this surely was something the cardinal would like to know on top of all the other ramblings, d'Artagnan mused, trying to suppress a grin due to the variety of unnecessary information Athos was offering. 

“As if I would not know who does the cooking for the regiment or who mucks out the stables where and when,” Richelieu snapped, “Get to the point!”

“Oh, right, of course you would know those details," Athos muttered. “Anyway, he informed me that he had to throw away all the flour and meat supplies as well as most of the preserved vegetables due to some unknown pest infestation that's befallen all the ---”

D'Artagnan had started walking up and down behind Athos while listening to the litany of issues that had apparently befallen the regiment in the last twelve hours. When Athos had begun talking about the stables and the horses already suffering from starvation, he'd realized the lieutenant was at least following some kind of plan, for he himself had seen the stacks of hay just this morning. And his own horse was as hale and hearty as ever. Every so often he glanced towards Richelieu, who looked more and more vexed the longer Athos talked. 

The young Gascon had unconsciously begun to pace as he had done before in Tréville's office, but noticing the cardinal occasionally glance his way with a growing look of irritation on his face, d'Artagnan decided it was time to walk up and down on purpose and with as much noise as possible. Accordingly his boot falls became heavier and heavier, each striding step ringing loudly against the marble floor. 

“Stand still or LEAVE! I see no reason for you to be here in the first place!” Richelieu was visibly testy now. 

D'Artagnan stopped and threw his hands into the air as if to say 'who, me?'. 

Athos, who had only briefly halted his flood of words, was already talking to Richelieu again, lamenting on and on about the headaches the garrison had caused him in Tréville's absence.

The cardinal cast a last fulsome look at d'Artagnan, attempting to glare him into submission before he turned his attention to Athos again. 

D'Artagnan retreated back to the door thinking now would be a good time to fumble with his dagger. Surely it was only his inexperience and youthfulness that caused the dagger to clatter to the floor a couple of times. At least he hoped the cardinal would believe that when the man of the church threw another icy stare in d'Artagnan's direction, which the Gascon countered with an innocent smile and a shrug of his shoulders. 

*******

The walk over to the chatelet had been short and uneventful, and the welcome there was just as Tréville had expected. The guards made fun of him, the more courageous ones giving him a shove here and there when he was not quick enough through a door or along the way. The cell he was pushed into was dirty, dark and smelled as foul as the dung hills he knew from home. He guessed they had just recently transferred the prisoners who had occupied it prior to his arrival, to give him the most disgusting cell. Let them have their fun, he thought, it won't change anything at all. 

He had not been approached by anyone since the door of the cell had closed behind him. Somehow he had imagined that Richelieu would insist on coming to see him, gloating over Tréville's misery. But nothing had happened. Neither had he been given anything to eat or drink, and the thirst was starting to turn nasty now. Even though the walls were thick and kept the heat out, going without water for several hours was becoming uncomfortable. He also had had to relieve himself, but after realizing that there was not even a bucket left in the cell for his personal needs, he had stifled it until it became unbearable. So he'd finally walked over to the one corner of his small prison that lay in almost absolute darkness, for he really didn't care if he added more filth to the cell, but in the dark corner he would at least not have to see it.

Now Tréville wondered if it had been smart to let the shimmer of hope that had emerged while talking with the Inseparables, cloud his ability to make rational decisions. After his men had appeared in his office and had heard him out, he had let himself get carried away with their energy and determination. He had to admit he had stupidly made decisions purely out of hope instead of based on his convictions. He should not have trusted Richelieu would really keep his word. He _should_ have known. 

But he had wanted it, had wanted to believe that his impulsive choice would not mean the end of his position as captain of the Musketeer's Regiment. If he had informed the king immediately, he could be on his way back to Gascony. Not today, naturally, but by the end of the week. He still had a small estate, though large enough for him to make a living. He could have lived there, but with what prospect? To wait in the hope that the cardinal would not inform King Louis anyway? No, he could not have lived that life, he was a soldier, his place was here, by the side of his king and queen, by his men. He could not imagine doing anything else. 

Musing over these things was in vain now, he reminded himself. He had made, as far as he could remember only twice now in his whole life, an emotionally influenced decision when he should have followed the voice of his head. Now he would have to pay for both. The first, he could not bring himself to regret, for it had been the right choice. Today's decision had, in all likelihood, been wrong. He could have saved his regiment as well as his own life. Both were out of his hands now.

*******

Dawn painted a beautiful blue sky over Paris, dotted with small white clouds, and even the heat was bearable, for a light breeze wafted through the alleys. Rain must have had fallen outside of Paris, leaving the air clear and crisp. 

Tréville, however, saw nothing of this. He had not slept well and was tired to the bone. He'd woken long before sunrise, or so he guessed, for he could not judge the time in the ever dim light down in the cellars. He had been awake now for hours and other than a guard who had at last brought some water and a crust of stale bread, he had seen no one. When he stood up it was cumbersome and slow, but nevertheless he picked up his pace as he walked back and forth in the small cell. He was restless and had problems concentrating on the coming trial. Often his thoughts wandered to Marie, wondering what had become of her after he had left her at the convent. 

Back at the Musketeer garrison, neither Athos nor d'Artagnan had gotten much sleep either. They had harassed Richelieu well into the evening, to a point where they almost felt pity for the cardinal. Almost. They had separated with loud and angry words and subtly uttered threats. But from the behavior of the cardinal, and if the several glasses of wine, mixed with an indeterminate white powder which Richelieu had downed during their visit, had been anything to go by, they had at least given him a migraine which would hopefully last well into the new day. 

Athos had detailed men to those tasks that needed to be accomplished and left any further organization to Bauer. In addition to himself and d'Artagnan, he assigned more men than usual for palace duty. If nothing else, they could at least show their support for the captain with their presence. Athos knew it was unlikely that the king would be available for a trial early in the day, but one never knew, maybe Louis wanted to get it over with since it was the captain of his own personal guard accused of high treason. So Athos decided to leave early, waiting only for the return of Arnaud, whom he had sent to the chatelet earlier to see if he could get any information about their captain or the upcoming trial. 

D'Artagnan had come up to the office to tell him that their horses were ready and that they could leave as soon as Athos gave the order. Now they both stood on the balcony, looking towards the archway, awaiting the return of Arnaud. Of course, both men also waited for another arrival, but it was unlikely that Porthos and Aramis could have made it all the way to Évreux and back within this short time. That didn't stop them though from glancing towards the entry now and then, hoping to see a familiar face ride through the gate. 

It was not Aramis or Porthos who rode into the garrison a couple of minutes later, but Arnaud, who shook his head as soon as he spotted Athos. The lieutenant had not expected anything else, but had hoped nevertheless.

“We ride, d'Artagnan. I have left orders to send Aramis and Porthos over to the Louvre upon their return.”

When they arrived at the palace, the Musketeers who had been on duty during the night reported nothing out of the ordinary. Neither the king nor the queen had made an appearance. There was a growing crowd of petitioners gathering in the reception room, but according to the Musketeers neither Cardinal Richelieu nor a messenger had sought an audience with the king yet.

Since Louis was not yet holding court, Athos decided to assign d'Artagnan and himself not to the private quarters or the reception hall but, together with some of the extra men he had brought, nearer to the inner courtyard where he would have a better view of the comings and goings.

They waited through long hours where little happened, then just before noon the clattering of hooves announced the arrival of one or more carriages. Shortly after, the carriage with the cardinal's coat of arms on its side, followed by a smaller prisoner carriage and a half dozen mounted Red Guards, turned into the courtyard and came to a halt. The Red Guards dismounted and Cardinal Richelieu got out of the carriage. Without so much as looking at Athos or d'Artagnan he strode right by them, flanked by four of his men and headed for the great hall. The remaining Red Guards had gathered around the smaller carriage where they now escorted Tréville out of it. 

Athos was shocked all over again by how the older man looked, but he knew from personal experience how only one night in the chatelet could wear you out, even more so with the prospect that the coming day might be your last. 

When Tréville neared them, Athos stepped in the way of the Red Guards, forcing them to stop. “Captain, how are you?”

Tréville attempted a smile that came out more like a grimace. “I have been better. Any news?”

Athos shook his head slightly; Tréville briefly closed his eyes. He had expected as much.

Before anyone could speak on, one of the Red Guards grabbed Tréville's arm, trying to push him to move on, while another tried to force Athos back. 

D'Artagnan was there in an instant, rapier and dagger drawn, shouting furiously at the Red Guards. “Let go of him! Now!”

“D'Artagnan, leave it alone! There's no use in it,” Tréville tried to reason with the Gascon. While he was incredibly proud that his men still stood by him, there was no sense fighting the inevitable. And he well knew how rash the young Gascon could be. 

With a desperate expression d'Artagnan looked at his captain and lowered his weapons. The Red Guards took the opportunity to push Tréville on and soon were at the bottom of the staircase. 

Athos glanced over to d'Artagnan, who stood with both arms hanging, rapier and dagger still in his hands, a look of hopeless despair on his face. Just now Athos realized how very young the Gascon really was and that in this moment he looked every bit the lost puppy Porthos never tired of teasing him with. For a brief moment, Athos looked directly into the abyss of despair and shuddered. Should this go wrong, he knew he would have to keep a wary eye on the young Gascon. 

“Let's go,” he prompted d'Artagnan, and they followed the Red Guards and their prisoner up the stairs. 

It was not until three more hours had passed that the court finally gathered and the accusations against Tréville came up for hearing before the king. 

As soon as the jury who would counsel the king had gathered, Richelieu had begun explaining the case to them. Athos and d'Artagnan had not been close enough to hear every word, but Athos had been certain the cardinal had explicitly informed the jury of Captain Tréville's irrefutable guilt.

Finally the king and queen arrived, taking their seats, and the counselors seated themselves again after having risen to greet their majesties. 

Richelieu gave orders to his guards to fetch the delinquent from where he had been held for the last hours and then addressed the king and queen. “Your Majesties, we are here today to hold court over Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville, captain of Your Majesty's Musketeer Regiment, who is accused of high treason. I have already informed you of the accusations. We will now give Captain Tréville the chance to confess his crime against Your Majesty and speak concerning his motives for doing so.”

“Cardinal, we should give the captain the chance to comment on these accusations before you judge him,” the queen spoke. “I cannot believe these accusations you brought forward to be true.”

Cardinal Richelieu bowed slightly towards the queen. “Of course, Your Majesty, Captain Tréville will be here any minute now and can speak for himself. Though there can be no doubt about the guilt in this matter. The proof speaks for itself.”

At this moment the doors opened and Tréville was escorted into the room and brought to stand before the king. Athos and d'Artagnan, who stood on the right side of the king, moved a little closer. 

“Your Majesties,” Tréville greeted with a courteous bow and then stood with his head held high and a blank mien, facing king and queen. He purposely avoided glancing towards Athos or d'Artagnan. 

Before the cardinal could address the captain with a repetition of the charges, King Louis began to speak. “Tréville, we demand to know this minute if any of these outrageous accusations the cardinal had brought up bear any truth! Have you refused to fulfill direct orders given by us?” The king was showing signs of annoyance, but seemed to still be inclined to shrug off the accusations brought forward by Richelieu as idle talk. 

Tréville hesitated for a split second before he answered. “I have never neglected my duty to my king and country, Sire, nor acted in any other way than for the benefit of France.” 

King Louis looked over to Cardinal Richelieu with a look that said 'what say you now', his eyebrow raised in eager arrogance, waiting for a reaction.

Richelieu took a couple of steps towards the thrones, half-turning so he could face both Tréville and the king and queen, and addressed Tréville. “So, you say that it is not true that you spared the _Duchesse_ d'Epernon, married to the _Duc_ d'Epernon, Bernard de Nogaret, who participated in the attempt to dethrone His Majesty King Louis, instigated by Maria de' Medici? That you did not spare her from the imposed verdict sentencing her to be banished from France and sent to the colonies? You deny that you arranged an escape for her by taking her to the Ursuline convent in Évreux, on French soil at that? There are rumors that you are romantically linked with the duchess. Did you disobey the king's direct command because of your love for a traitor? Do you deny these accusations?” 

While the cardinal announced the accusations in a voice gradually getting louder, the jurists and the courtiers, who had gathered at the back of the room, started conversing in hushed voices, their murmurs also getting louder by the minute. Athos exchanged quick glances with d'Artagnan, deeply worried by what they had just heard from the cardinal. Athos hoped that for once their captain would not feel obliged to speak the truth, but would deny everything. They still could not be sure Richelieu had any evidence at all, though Athos himself had very little hope left. 

While they had waited for the trial to start, he had desperately watched for any signs that Aramis and Porthos had returned to Paris, but no message had come, not from the garrison and not from his brothers. While he knew the time they had had to ride there and back had been very short, he also knew his brothers would go beyond their limits to see the task done. If they were not back by now it could only mean that they had not had success at the convent or had been prevented from returning to Paris by unforeseen obstacles encountered either on the way to or from the convent. 

“Well?” The king looked expectantly to Tréville, his face now showing nothing of the goodwill which had been there only moments ago. The queen, too, looked with an earnest mien to Tréville, waiting for his answer. 

“These accusations are ridiculous, Sire, I don't know how Cardinal Richelieu came to believe any of these statements, whoever has given them, bear any truth,” Tréville stated in a calm voice and without even a flinch at the lies spilling out. 

Athos was proud of him, for a moment there he'd been afraid Tréville would outright confess that once in his life he had disobeyed orders from his king. At least this bought them time, though Athos was not sure to what purpose. 

“What is this proof you claim to have, Richelieu?” the king asked his First Minister. “Can you prove any accusations at all? Captain Tréville has always been loyal to us, if this is one of your games we insist you stop this right now.” Louis looked expectantly to Richelieu, whose behavior now turned from accusatory to submissive. “Besides, we have already planned a hunting trip to the Meudon where we need our loyal Musketeers and their captain by our side, so let us be done with this now. The captain has given his word, this shall be sufficient to us if you cannot bring forward any proof.”

Richelieu raised an eyebrow, glancing over to Tréville before he turned his attention back to the king again. “I would not consider bringing charges against someone as honorable as the captain appears if there was no evidence to prove it. Any minute now I am in expectation of my soldiers returning with proof of the accusations. If your majesty allows, I will send one of my men to see if the riders have arrived.” 

The murmur of the observers, which had almost ceased, now crescendoed again. Richelieu signed to one of his guards who left immediately.

They did not have to wait long until there was a small commotion at the door, and when Tréville turned to look, he almost flinched. Flanked by a pair of Red Guards, two nuns were ushered into the chamber. Marie he recognized immediately. She was still beautiful, despite the veil hiding her once beautiful long black hair, and leaving little of her face to behold. Unconsciously Tréville's mind registered that she wore the habit of those who had taken their vows. 

Athos had looked towards the door as well when it opened, but turned towards his captain in time to see the reaction the appearance of the women had on him. He knew instantly that they had lost.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan had shared a quick glance during the conversation, but they knew there was nothing that could save their captain now.

Tréville had blanched the moment Marie and the mother superior were brought into the room. Athos knew his captain well enough to see the flickers of pure emotion shining in the man's eyes, how his face lost all color the moment he became aware of the two women and how affection for this woman raged over the captain's whole body and settled down into every fiber.

Athos saw Tréville’s attempt to suppress it, to not give himself away. The captain was as good as Athos at keeping up appearances, never showing unwanted emotions, appearing stoic and unapproachable more often than not. Athos saw the shift in Tréville's behavior but he was sure that no one else in the room had seen it. Louis was not a man who paid close enough attention to his subordinates to see any shifts in behavior at all, the more so ones as subtle as the captain's, and Richelieu was too self-assured to need to look closely at Tréville to see if there was a reaction from him. If the queen had noticed anything, she did not show it.

One of the cardinal's guards stepped up to Richelieu and whispered something into the cardinal's ear, very probably the names of the two women, for Richelieu's face lit up with satisfaction. Though before he could speak and introduce the women, they all were surprised by the elderly nun who walked directly towards the king, arms outstretched as she spoke. “Louis, what a pleasure to see you.” She made an obeisance; she might be able to address him informally but even she had to greet him with due deference. “Please tell us what this is about. Why do you send men to drag us through the country in such a haste? We had to ride! At least you could have provided a carriage.” 

The king, who had recognized his cousin the moment she entered the room, was already standing and now came down to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “My dear Nané, this must be a misunderstanding. Cardinal?” He turned to face his minister. “Why did your men drag my dear cousin through half of France and not even provide a comfortable carriage? What is the meaning of this?”

Athos and d'Artagnan had shared a quick glance during the conversation, but they knew there was nothing that could save their captain now. D'Artagnan shifted his position, stepping closer to the captain and Athos could see that the Gascon's hands were already drifting toward his weapons. As much as he himself wished and was willing to save his captain, even by force of arms, he knew that this was not the way. He moved closer to d'Artagnan in order to restrain him bodily if need be. 

Tréville saw what Athos was doing and gave a slight nod of approval. He would not see a single one of his men come to harm if he had a say in this. All the better if Athos was already taking precautions. 

The cardinal had been flummoxed by Mother Jeanne's greeting, but quickly recovered. When his sources had revealed the information about the convent and Évreux and Marie de Nogaret he had not made the connections, which he now, of course, did. This was even better than he had hoped his plan would turn out! 

He rushed to meet the abbess and bowed slightly. “I must apologize for the inconvenience we have caused you, but surely my men have informed you of the seriousness of this affair and why it was so important to bring you to Paris as fast as possible. I see you have brought Sister Camille with you.”

“Yes, obviously, this was what your men expressly demanded. I could, of course, not let them travel with her alone. So, what is this all about now?” Mother Jeanne turned toward Louis again. “I understand that it is a matter of the utmost importance, involving your personal guard?”

Before the king could answer, Richelieu, eager to see Tréville finally fall from grace, spoke. “Since you brought with you Sister Camille, whom we know as Marie de Nogaret, Duchess of Epernon, she might as well explain for herself why we are gathered here and what misdeeds she has done with the help of Captain Tréville.”

The room was quiet now, everyone waiting for a confession, all eyes fixed on the little group that stood before the king. Queen Anne remained seated, but was waiting in anticipation for the younger nun to speak. 

“I fear I must disappoint you, Your Eminence, she does not speak. Has not since the day she was brought to the convent. But I am delighted to hear that you know Camille! Finally we can associate a name and origin with her!” Mother Jeanne looked very delighted, though that expression soon shifted to a more confused one. “Though, I wonder how you recognize her, since Camille was such a small child when we found her.”

Now it was not only Mother Jeanne who looked confused. 

Tréville had been almost unable to hear anything of what was spoken only a couple of feet away from him. The words were overlain by the rushing of blood in his ears and his attempts to draw breath when it seemed he was no longer able to do so. 

Athos had put a hand on his young brother's arm, for d'Artagnan had been at the point of drawing his rapier when the identity of the duchess had been revealed. Both men almost gaped now, restraining themselves with a last mobilization of stubborn will, though it was a close call with d'Artagnan. 

Richelieu just stared, the words he heard not concomitant with what his head provided.

Only King Louis seemed to be oblivious to the confusion around him. “What is this now, Richelieu, why have you summoned our cousin and one of her sisters? Obviously this sister it not the _Duchesse_ d'Epernon? Not that we had expected her to be, for all we know she is rotting in the colonies now, if our orders were duly obeyed.” The king glanced over to Tréville meaningfully. “Which we presume they were.”

“Do you mean to say that this Sister Camille, standing before us here, is not the former Duchess of Epernon, brought to you in the last days of May, anno domini 1619, by Captain Tréville to seek refuge in your convent? Do you deny that you gave shelter to a criminal convicted of high treason?” Richelieu shouted now, spraying small bits of spittle with each word. 

“Cardinal, you must not speak in such a manner to brides of Christ, control yourself!” The queen had risen from her seat and looked angrily towards Richelieu, her words sharp and firm. 

“But of course, I apologize.” Richelieu bowed slightly to the queen, then turned again towards the mother superior. “My apologies, but my sources have unmistakably informed me that the former duchess is living in your convent, under the name of Sister Camille. She was clearly recognized by people who knew her from her former life,” he hissed. “There's no doubt of that!”

“Good Lord, Richelieu, we ourselves convicted these traitors and even we cannot remember that face. As for us, we have never seen this face before. Nané, would you please unearth the truth behind the identity of Sister Camille.” 

What the king paid no heed to was of course the fact that most convictions had taken place without his presence, without even the presence of judges. Other than his mother and a few of her close allies who had been beheaded instantly, he had not been confronted with any of those numerous people who had been executed or convicted on behalf of his majesty. 

But that was a fact neither Tréville nor Athos were inclined to point out now. 

Tréville only now dared to look to Sister Camille. He had restrained himself out of fear of losing his composure. Sister Camille had her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in a humble bearing, seemingly calm and composed. There was no hint that she was aware of the seriousness of the allegation just voiced. Tréville could see that she had changed. She looked thin and haggard and there were fine lines and wrinkles in her once smooth face. Her ivory skin was now tanned from working in the sun. But she was as beautiful as she had been the first time he'd seen her, and he had to look away before he gave himself away. He almost missed that the abbess was talking again. 

“My dear Louis, there is nothing to reveal. Camille came to us as a small child. We found her one winter's day over seventeen years ago outside our gate, almost starved, clad in rags. She has never spoken a word, so we never had any hint where she came from, though for various reasons it is obvious that she is rather a peasant's child than one ethelborn.” Mother Jeanne now looked over to Captain Tréville, gracing him with a smile before she continued. “She has lived with us ever since and is a valuable member of our convent. And not only because of her skills in gardening.” 

“We have heard enough,” the King proclaimed. “Richelieu, you must once again have been misled. This matter is closed.” 

“I have one more question for the Mother Superior, if you would allow.” And without waiting for permission from the king, Richelieu addressed the abbess once more. “Please answer me a last question, Sister. You are saying that you never harbored the Duchess of Epernon? Can you truthfully answer that this is right? That Marie de Nogaret, _Duchesse_ d'Epernon is not living in your convent? Do you swear by the almighty God?”

“Eminence, I think you forget who you are talking to,” Mother Jeanne reminded the cardinal. “Besides, this is not one, but two questions. But I will answer truthfully, as God is my witness. I swear on the sacred cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ.” She wrapped a hand over the cross hanging around her neck. “No, Eminence, no one by the name of Marie de Nogaret, _Duchesse_ d'Epernon is living in my convent.”

She turned towards the king. “And now, my dear, I would appreciate it if my sister and I were released from here so we may return to our duties in service of Our Lord.”

“This matter is closed.” Louis regally gave a wave of his hand to show that he was done. As entertaining as such a trial was for a short break from handling state affairs, he quickly tired of all the talking, especially if the cardinal was the one in charge of the case. Richelieu tended to spout endlessly and obviously loved to hear himself talk too much for the liking of the king. 

“My dear Nané, you must dine with us tonight and tell us how Évreux is prospering. You can return first thing in the morning. Tréville, we trust you will assign enough men to grant safe passage back for my cousin and her sister.”

Tréville had not yet realized that the trial really was over, he was still too stunned by what had happened in the last quarter-hour. He mobilized his last reserves of fortitude and managed to bow to the king, but before he could answer, the abbess was talking again.

“Surely you would not deny us an armed escort comprising your most trusted men,” Mother Jeanne declared, ”someone as loyal as your Captain Tréville here? I've heard of uprisings spreading in the provinces.” 

“You are right, Mother Jeanne.” Queen Anne had stepped off the dais to join them. “You could not be in more capable hands then those of Captain Tréville. He has never been anything other than loyal and unwavering in his duties. With him and his courageous Musketeers at your side you must not fear danger. D'Artagnan here is the king's champion, one of his bravest soldiers.” The queen smiled and looked to d'Artagnan, as did Mother Jeanne. 

“Then I am glad to be escorted by such brave and noble men.”

“My dear captain, we are sorry that these false accusations have caused you such trouble. I never believed them to be true.” The queen glanced over to Richelieu while speaking, her intention unmistakable. 

“You must understand, captain, that I must follow up whenever such accusations are brought to me. I, of course, never really doubted your absolute loyalty to the king. If you'll excuse me now, there are urgent affairs of state I must see to.” Richelieu bowed deeply towards king and queen, and with a last assessing look at Tréville he turned and swept down the hall and out of the door. 

Now Athos stepped closer to Tréville and grasped his shoulder. “Captain.” He nodded towards Tréville. No more words were needed, this simple gesture expressed everything Athos felt, the inexpressible relief and overwhelming feeling of how tremendously victorious this day had ended for them, against all odds. D'Artagnan, too, had moved closer and was grinning from ear to ear. Athos could almost feel the tension seeping out of d'Artagnan. He wondered how long the young man would be able to hold himself upright, for d'Artagnan had been so tense during the trial that Athos had seen the muscles in his brother's arms and legs shaking, and had been very concerned about him. 

The king was already talking again and dismissed Tréville with the order to report to the palace in the morning, to see the two sisters safely back to their convent. The king and queen retired to their private quarters and Athos ordered some of the spare Musketeers to remain on palace duty. The three men silently walked down the hallways until they reached the inner courtyard where they would retrieve their horses from the stable and ride back to the garrison. 

When they were through the great doors, Tréville faltered and had to brace himself on the wall for a moment. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a couple of times. 

D'Artagnan was beside him in an instant. “Are you alright?”

Tréville nodded and took a couple more breaths before he finally lifted his head. “I just need a moment. This has ---” his voice failed him and he had to clear his throat. 

He looked at Athos and d'Artagnan and when it was clear that he could not find words to express what he felt right now, Athos stated, “We know.” 

They stood for a moment longer and then continued on. When they finally arrived at the garrison, Tréville was greeted by his men with joyful shouts and backslapping and appreciative nods. However, the Musketeers all knew their captain well enough and continued with whatever task they had been assigned. Later there would be time enough to talk about what had happened and celebrate. 

As they rode into the courtyard, Athos and d'Artagnan immediately looked out for their brothers, but it was soon clear they were not in the garrison. Jean confirmed that neither had returned. They exchanged a few quick words with Bauer before Athos hurried up the stairs to the captain's office with a worried expression, d'Artagnan at his heels. 

The captain still stood at the threshold to his office, momentarily lost in thought. The day before he had been sure he would never return here. Whatever higher power had intervened, he was thankful from the bottom of his heart to be given this chance. Then he stepped into the room and took his seat behind the desk. He looked expectantly to the incoming men but knew immediately from their expressions that they did not bring good news. 

“Nothing?” He asked, even before Athos and d'Artagnan came to a halt before his desk. 

“No. No news.” 

“I can go search for them, I could leave straightaway. Something must have happened, they should have been back by now!” D'Artagnan was desperate and the voice carried his worry. 

“No. The king has tasked us with the escort of Mother Jeanne and,” Tréville hesitated for a second, “Sister Camille, to take them safely back to the convent. We will ride as soon as possible. On our way to Évreux we can look for Porthos and Aramis.”

When d'Artagnan opened his mouth to protest, Tréville countered once more. “They are both capable of looking out for themselves, I am sure they are only delayed for minor reasons.”

If the captain did not believe what he had said, he did not show it.

“We will see you in the morning then. Come d'Artagnan, we can go make preparations for the trip tomorrow. I would think the nuns will be up before sunrise and might want to travel early.”

Both Musketeers turned and walked to the door, but Athos stopped in his tracks and turned around again. “It's good to have you back, captain.”

Tréville smiled lightly, for the first time in days. “Yes.”

*********

After a short night, they left the garrison before sunrise to make their way towards the Louvre. Late in the evening a manservant from the palace had arrived at the garrison with orders to report at the palace after lauds, which was rather an unholy time for someone like Athos, who was known for his fondness for large quantities of wine combined with an antipathy toward rising early the following morning. 

However, even though d'Artagnan and Athos had sat at their usual table in the garrison courtyard well into the night, joined by their captain for an hour, Athos had not drunk much. They had waited for their brothers' return, which had not happened, and discussed the strange statements and odd declarations the abbess had made before the king, things neither man could make sense of. As relieved as they all were about the outcome of the trial, thanks to the testimony of the mother superior, they hoped to get some answers the next morning when they escorted the nuns back to the convent. 

They arrived at the Louvre in time and it was not long before they all were on their way to Évreux. Mother Jeanne had insisted that both nuns would ride horseback instead of using a carriage, despite the reproaches she had addressed the king with the other day. The Musketeers were content, since it meant they could travel faster and therefore be able to start the search sooner for their missing brothers. 

They followed the same path Aramis and Porthos had taken two days ago, though now it was earlier in the day and the Parisian streets were still cool and only just awakening. When they left through the town gate of Sainte-Honoré, the morning mist still wafted over the fields, and in the distant they could just make out the vast expanses of the Rouvray forest. 

They rode in silence along the barely frequented way, now and then a carriage or a hay cart came along the road, and they waited at the side until it had passed. Athos led the way, the two nuns, who were surprisingly good riders, rode in the middle and Tréville and d'Artagnan brought up the rear. 

After a while d'Artagnan could no longer restrain his curiosity. He spurred his horse so he came alongside the abbess. “Mother Superior, may I ask you a question?”

The nun turned towards d'Artgnan and smiled. “Of course, young man, we are not of an order with the vow of silence. Ask along.”

Athos shifted in the saddle and looked over his shoulder to his brother. Surely d'Artagnan would ask about their missing brothers. They had not yet asked the abbess whether Aramis and Porthos had reached the convent at all, but now they needed to know. He strained his ears to hear what was being discussed behind him. 

“Two of our brothers rode to your convent two days ago, to assess if the cardinal had any proof for his accusations. They have not yet returned even though they should have been back by now. We're wondering if they reached the convent at all?” D'Artagnan asked, hope shining visibly on his face. 

“If your brothers answer to the names of Porthos and Aramis, then yes, these Musketeers did indeed arrive at our convent.” Mother Jeanne's reply brought an ease to the minds of the three Musketeers, who exchanged quick glances of relief. At least now they had a kind of trace. 

“If not for your loyal soldiers, yesterday's outcome would have been very different,” the abbess continued, glancing briefly back to Tréville. “It was a close call, for only mere minutes after the arrival of your Musketeers Red Guards arrived and I was already on my way to answer their call before your men had the chance to state their business.”

Athos let his horse fall back a little so he was closer to the abbess and could hear what she revealed. Tréville also moved closer, and as they rode on Mother Jeanne told them what had happened after Aramis and Porthos had arrived at the convent and had tried to explain their matter. 

How Porthos had rushed after her and, at the very last moment, had stopped her, pleaded with painful honesty to give him one more minute. Only one moment to explain in plain, moving words that a life was at stake. And how so very much this life meant to them. She told them how the blank despair in the big man's voice and the pure devotion in his eyes had shown her more than words could, how much they feared for this life. The life of their captain. 

She told them how Aramis had talked to her about faith, fate and the mysterious ways God moves, and his point of view in these things. How the power mortals have on earth only comes to them from far beyond, and the choices one has on the paths spread out to them. What she did not mention, though, was her surprise about the profound knowledge and the insight into the mysticism of Christian faith Aramis had shown, though there were those who would call it heresy. 

And with a wink she admitted that being a nun, and even one of her age, did not make one immune to the charm and allure of someone like the Musketeer Aramis. 

The abbess turned in her saddle to address Tréville. “I have no doubt these men would die for their king without the slightest hesitation, but their unshakable loyalty is to their captain. They would lay down their lives for you as unconditionally as they would for their king, if not _more_ willingly. That's rare to find.” 

Tréville didn't know how to respond, for he was deeply moved by what he had just heard. He knew of the loyalty of his men, but to have it pointed out in the way the abbess just had, was quite another matter. He was saved from answering by d'Artagnan, who wanted to know more about the whereabouts of his brothers. 

“Do you know what they did after you spoke with the Red Guards?”

“I had told them that I would hear what the cardinal had to say in this matter and then decide. They expected to leave the convent immediately after our departure and had planned to ride through the night to reach Paris in the early morning hours. This would have given them enough time to inform you of what we had talked about.” 

The Musketeers again exchanged glances, this time serious ones. If Porthos and Aramis had stated that they wanted to outdistance the cardinal's delegation on their way back to Paris, they should have been back a whole day ago. 

“I don't know what could have happened to them, we saw nothing out of the ordinary on our way to Paris, though we naturally did not ride through the night as they had intended to do. We stayed at the Carmelite convent in Saint-Auquilin-de-Pacy for a couple of hours. Could well be they took the southern route via Breuilpont, though.”

“But what,” Athos now wanted to know, for he could still not make sense of what had happened the day before, when the nun so persuasively had denied the woman's identity who had stood mere feet away from her and obviously _was_ the duchess, “what did you decide to tell the king and the cardinal after you had talked to our brothers. I mean, obviously ...” he looked over to Sister Camille with a pointed stare, eyebrow raised. 

“I told the young men that I would think about the matter and how I should handle it on our way to Paris, but that I had no intention of allowing innocent folk to be hanged for court intrigues and power games between Richelieu and Louis. I asked Sister Camille to let me talk in this matter,” Mother Jeanne looked over to the younger woman, “and out of fear for what and whose life was at stake, she didn't speak at all during our journey. Which was helpful in the negotiations with the cardinal as it turned out.” Now she smiled. 

“But you lied. You swore before God to tell the truth! How could you do that?” It was the young Gascon again, who could not get over the fact that this good sister had flat-out lied to the king and his first minister. 

Now the abbess was even more amused and laughed lightly, which confused d'Artagnan still more. “Rest assured, young man, that I broke neither a commandment nor a law.” She glanced towards Athos, the smile still on her face. “Others are just as capable of playing the kinds of games Cardinal Richelieu plays so brilliantly.”

She looked fondly over to Sister Camille, and was more earnest now. “I did not lie when I said that the _Duchesse_ d'Epernon is not living with us. Marie gave up her worldly name and titles and her prior life the moment she took her vows and became Sister Camille. As for us, Marie de Nogaret of Epernon no longer exists.” Now she almost smirked before she continued. “Therefore, no one by that name is residing in my convent. As you might have noticed yesterday, I only answered one of the cardinal's questions, the one I could truthfully swear by almighty God.”

When it finally seeped into his still muddled mind how clever the abbess had countered in this affair, Tréville had to smile. With this good sister, it seemed, Richelieu had finally met his match.

“As for poor Camille, she really came to us as a small child and we never could find out who she is or where she came from. We called her Camille because it was the saint's day of Camille when she came to us. Later she chose Cathérine as her monastic name, in deference to saint Catherine of Siena, whom she worships devotedly, and became Sister Cathérine. Marie, when she took her vows, chose the name of Camille.” She glanced quickly over to the sister. “And she chose well.... So, the one sin I have to atone for is not having pointed out to the cardinal, and Louis, that the Camille I was speaking of was not the Sister Camille he referenced.” 

The abbess smirked again and, with a raised voice, added “My hearing is not the best anymore, could very well be that I misheard one thing or the other.” She looked back to Sister Camille. “We will pray and ask for forgiveness once we have returned.” 

D'Artagnan spurred his horse now to come alongside Athos so they could discuss searching for their brothers. The mystery remained as to why they had not reported back to the garrison in time. 

Tréville meanwhile moved his horse to the side of Sister Camille. It was the first time they shared glances, and not the quick ones like the day before or this morning when they had readied themselves for the ride.

The abbess interrupted their silent eyeing when she spoke again. “I am sure my cousin could not wish for a more loyal captain of his personal guard than you, Tréville. So, what I did was to ensure that it leaves the King of France in the best hands to protect his life and the lives of those he holds dear. I believe this ought to be well worth a little misguiding of the Cardinal.” 

“I appreciate what you did for me and for Sister Camille, and sincerely thank you for it. But what I have done nevertheless is treason against king and country and cannot be pardoned. I should not have allowed others to incur guilt or endanger themselves because of my transgression and insubordination.” 

“Sometimes, captain, you have to decide upon insubordination and disgrace when there is no honor in obedience. And I believe you to be a man of great honor, Tréville. With Richelieu by his side, Louis needs someone he can trust and depend upon, someone who puts honor and loyalty before anything else.” 

“There is no honor in what I have done. It was selfish and far from loyal to the king.”

“My dear captain. To the king, one must give his possessions and his life; but honor is a possession of the soul, and the soul is only God's.” She scrutinized Tréville. “And I believe our Lord to be a loving and forgiving one, if one only asks.” 

The abbess now looked straight ahead to the two Musketeers riding in front of her and added in a soft tone, still addressing Tréville, “You may not be able to forgive yourself, but God will.” 

She nudged her mare to trot a little faster so she could come alongside Athos, and the mother superior was now riding side by side with Athos and d'Artagnan ahead of Tréville and Sister Camille. “So, Monsieur, tell me now how the Comte de la Fère came to be a mere soldier serving in the King's Musketeer Regiment.” 

Athos accepted the question for what it was. An opportunity to give Tréville and the former duchess some privacy to talk without causing them embarrassment. So he shifted his upper body to the left side, facing the nun, and smiled knowingly. “It's not a story told in short” he answered. 

“Go ahead, _comte_ , I have some time to spare. We still have many miles ahead of us.“ 

She smiled warmly towards Athos and Athos returned the smile. 

“If this is so, then I shall give you the whole story. At least those parts of it which are suitable for the ears of a merciful sister in the service of God.” 

“You may be surprised by all the things these ears have heard over the years.”

D'Artagnan glanced back. Tréville and Sister Camille were speaking in hushed voices now, the face of his captain displaying a relaxed and contented mien, while the sister's tanned cheeks bore a becoming rose tint. D'Artagnan smiled inwardly, returning his attention to Athos and Mother Jeanne, the latter listening intently to the understated story of the paths the Comte de la Fère had taken after the “untimely death” of his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line “ _To the king, one must give his possessions and his life; but honor is a possession of soul, and the soul is only God's._ ” is a quote borrowed from Pedro Calderón de la Barca (1600–1681), El Alcalde de Zalamea (The Mayor of Zalamea)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan slowed down a bit about a quarter hour after they had entered the forest, and then suddenly shouted “Athos! On the right!”, at the same time turning his horse so he could protect the nuns with his horse and body, and simultaneously drawing his harquebus.

The heat had lessened over the night and the day was not as hot as the days and weeks before had been. So the nuns and their guardians were able to cover quite a distance, changing between walk, trot and canter and it once again showed that both women were good riders. The former duchess had, of course, spent many hours on horseback, raised, as she had been, on a country estate with vast expanses. Where the abbess had gained her skills they could only guess, but given the relation to the King of France it could well be that she had spent some part of her childhood accompanying royal hunting trips of the House of Bourbon. 

Given the distance they had covered by midday, the hopes were high that they really could reach Évreux within a day and be there, if not at sundown then shortly after. Otherwise they would have to seek shelter in a convent or monastery on their way, but neither the nuns nor the Musketeers were keen on it. They had only stopped twice to rest a little, eat something and feed the horses before they set off again. Throughout the day they had been riding in different formations, but often it was the captain and Sister Camille in the middle, while one of the Musketeers brought up the rear and the other one rode ahead, together with the abbess. 

It was late afternoon when they entered the forêt de Pacy. D'Artagnan was leading the way, a couple of yards in front of the little group, and constantly scanned his surroundings. Tréville and Athos were at the back, discussing quietly how they should proceed regarding the search for Aramis and Porthos, once they had returned the nuns safely to the convent. 

D'Artagnan slowed down a bit about a quarter hour after they had entered the forest, and then suddenly shouted “Athos! On the right!”, at the same time turning his horse so he could protect the nuns with his horse and body, and simultaneously drawing his harquebus. Athos immediately spurred his horse and encircled the nuns on the other side, both Musketeers now shielding the women from whatever peril d'Artagnan had seen. 

Mother Jeanne and Sister Camille looked anxiously around, trying to find the cause of the sudden commotion, their horses dancing nervously where they had been halted. 

“What is it?” Tréville demanded.

“I saw something stir over there between the trees. Wait here.”

D'Artagnan urged his horse off the path to confront what or who was hiding in the woods. He had gone only a couple of yards before he reined his horse to a standstill. He lowered his harquebus and leaned forward a bit as if to get a better look at whatever he had spotted. 

Athos and Tréville meanwhile scanned their immediate surroundings against the possibility of imminent danger from other sides, both men with their weapons in hand. They were distracted from this task by another shout from d'Artagnan, this time the young man sounded not troubled but full of delight.

“Aramis!” 

The Gascon was already urging his horse through the undergrowth. Just as Athos and Tréville spotted the marksman between the trees, too, d'Artagnan slid from his horse and ran the last couple of yards to his brother, giving him a firm hug upon his arrival, which Aramis returned. 

“Athos!” d'Artagnan hollered alarmingly not half a minute later.

Athos promptly began to move, troubled by the shout of his brother, for there was something between horror and ire ringing in the voice of the young man. Tréville prompted the nuns to move forward and they trailed behind in the path Athos cleared. Meanwhile Porthos had joined Aramis and d'Artagnan in the small clearing where the three now stood in, and Athos could see what had caused the ire and fright in the Gascon's voice when he was closer. 

Porthos sported a blood-soaked bandage around his head and Aramis had his sash wrapped around his upper leg; all in all they looked rather worse for wear. 

Athos dismounted once he had reached the clearing, though not as impetuously or dashing as d'Artagnan had, and stepped up to Aramis, grabbing the shoulder of his brother. 

“It's good to see you two,” Athos said with relief in his voice, nodding over to Porthos. 

Porthos grinned back at the _comte_. “You too, my friend.”

Tréville and the nuns had reached the clearing as well and Aramis greeted them with a nod to his captain and a slight bow to the nuns. “Captain. Mother Jeanne.” 

“'s good to see you, too,” Porthos added.

“What kept you?” Athos, hiding his sense of relief, crossed his arms over his chest and looked them up and down demandingly.

“Unforeseen circumstances,” Porthos answered with a growl. 

And after Athos had raised one eyebrow in the very same manner he always did, and d'Artagnan had put that questioning look on his face nobody was able to resist, Porthos told them what had happened to them. 

That they had had every intention of outdistancing the Red Guards on their way back to Paris and had made good time, especially thanks to the full moon that had provided enough light to ride on after nightfall. How they had stumbled over an obstacle blocking the road, a big hay cart that had turned over and half buried the horse. A handful of peasants had been trying to get the cart up to rescue the horse, but they couldn't move it and had begged the Musketeers for help. Porthos had offered to shoot the poor animal, but they were having none of it. Obviously it was the only horse they had left and weren't willing to sacrifice it. So they both had dismounted and added their strength to the feeble efforts. It had not taken long and the men had been able to finally pull the horse out. Naturally, it had had two broken legs, but Porthos and Aramis hadn't been willing to waste more time on it and readied themselves to mount again. 

“They thanked us for our efforts by attacking us from behind and knocking us down,” Porthos continued.

“Why?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Prejudices,” Porthos growled with a grim face. 

“They assaulted you because of the color of your skin?” Athos asked in a flat voice, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

“No,” Porthos answered, glancing over to Aramis.

After a short pause Aramis' soft voice was heard. “No. They heard me curse in Spanish when we helped them with the cart.” Aramis looked up to his brothers, hurt glimmering in his eyes. “They thought I was Spanish....”

Athos looked from Aramis to Porthos and back, surprise registering on his face. “They attacked you because they hate the Spanish?”

Porthos glanced over to Aramis once more, and when the marksman showed no intention of answering, Porthos uttered. 

“They tried to hang him right there, swearing rude insults at him all the time. Though they were only peasants they outnumbered us and had the advantage of surprise on their side. And we were tired and exhausted from the long ride.“ Porthos sounded defensive, though what for his brothers could not grasp, it surely was not the big man's fault that some ignorant peasants had attacked a King's Musketeer out of their hatred for Spain. A _French_ King's Musketeer. “It was quite a fight.....”

“Yes, well, nothing Porthos and I weren't able to handle,” Aramis interrupted. “Those brutes were no match for Musketeers, really, though I have to admit it _was_ quite a tussle. We defeated them eventually,” he told them lightly, trying to shrug off how paralyzed with horror he had been when they had caught and dragged him to the nearest tree, a rope surprisingly appearing in their hands. “Porthos went berserk, and _that_ was sight to behold,” Aramis said casually and looked over to Porthos. 

“They already had a rope around your neck, what would you have liked me to do instead? Watch them see it through?” 

There was a gasp from d'Artagnan and the boy looked shaken, while Athos let out a growl. The women, who were still mounted and had listened in silence, were shocked, but it was Tréville who spoke first. 

“We will locate those men and they will be held accountable for what they did. I will not allow the King's Musketeers to be attacked for any reasons and get away with it.” Tréville was barely able to suppress his anger over what had happened to two of his soldiers. 

If they had been on their way at the behest of and on the business of King Louis, it would have been an affront to the king, and therefore a criminal offense, prosecutable under penalty of death, but nevertheless nothing a soldier in the service of France would not have to reckon with while on duty. But these two had been assaulted while on a mission not in the service of the crown, but to help out their captain in a purely private matter. And this was something Tréville could neither ignore nor shrug off lightly. 

“Don't.” Aramis said. “It's not their fault. They are suffering and angry and need someone they can turn their anger on. King Louis is out of reach for them, so they turn on others they can lay hands on. Who would be better suited than Spain right now?” And after a pause he added. “No harm was done other than Porthos' mild concussion and an ugly gash on my upper leg, which injured my pride more than anything else.” 

Porthos laughed. “Indeed, it did quite deflate the opinion of ourselves. I really thought my head would be sturdier. I was puking for almost a whole day.”

“Are you able to ride?” d'Artagnan asked.

“He would not have been yesterday, not that it mattered. When we finally had them put to flight, they bolted with our horses. So, riding was an option not left to us anyway.” Aramis looked down to his upper leg. “And with this gash it would have been painful, too. We thought it best to recuperate for a day and await the arrival of our brothers.” 

Aramis grinned broadly and Athos asked dryly, his eyebrows raised, “And what, pray tell, made you so sure we would come and rescue you?” 

The brothers exchanged glances; that was something none of them would ever have to worry about, and they knew it from the bottom of their hearts. As long as only one of them still drew breath, they would always search and find each other, never be forsaken, no matter what. D'Artagnan felt incredibly proud to be part of this brotherhood now. The death of his father had brought not only grief, but also bestowed brothers on him not even a blood relative could compete with.

“We need to move. Nightfall will soon be upon us and we have to make haste. If you can ride, we'll share horses,” Tréville urged. “Athos, d'Artagnan, help them mount, you both will have to share.”

“I have another proposal.”

When the suggestion came, they were surprised by the thoughtfulness of it and who had voiced it. None of them, with the exception of Mother Jeanne and Captain Tréville, had ever heard Sister Camille talk – apart from the hushed whisper she had shared with the captain during their journey. Her voice war clear and dewy like summer rain, the words floating in a melodic way like wind whispering through trees. And if any one of them had harbored doubts about their captain's action from years ago, now they were gone. If the voice was anything to go by, she must have been a beautiful, determined and clever woman. In all likelihood she still was. 

“Mother Jeanne and I are surely the lightest riders here. If we share a horse it will leave the three of you with mobility and the option to move quickly and defend us unhindered should the need arise, while your two injured brothers can share a horse and look out for each other. We might move more quickly that way.” 

“In case of danger, Athos and you could take the sisters to safety while Porthos, Aramis and I could fight, captain.”

“D'Artagnan is right.” Porthos voiced. “If the sisters are willing to share a horse, it would be the best option.”

Sister Camille was already dismounting and Tréville quickly moved over to help her up so she could sit behind the abbess. 

“All right then, let's move,” Tréville announced, and with a glance up at both nuns he added. “Thank you.”

Porthos and Aramis mounted the recently abandoned mare, but not without stifled groans and not as vigorously as they usually did. They all returned to the path the small group had traveled upon before and moved on towards Évreux.

When they were only a couple of miles away from the convent, they decided to split up. Athos and the captain would escort the nuns back to the convent and if they covered the last leg of the journey at a canter, they could still reach it before midnight. D'Artagnan would stay back and set up camp with Porthos and Aramis, who both had shown slight indications of being unwell, even though neither of them would admit it. They would wait for the return of Athos and Tréville and then spend the rest of the night there and travel back to Paris at the first light. 

Once their destination was in sight, the little group bridled their horses and covered the last mile in a sharp trot. When they reached the convent, they dismounted and announced their arrival with the bell outside the gate and were greeted shortly after by a very surprised and relieved sister. The Mother Superior gave orders to see to her horse and bring back a rested one for the Musketeers to take back with them.

She then turned to Tréville. “She can not stay here, captain. You know this. Even if we have won this round, the danger is too great that others will come back and seek out her identity.” 

Tréville nodded. He had know it the moment the king had closed the matter and Richelieu had stormed off. The cardinal was not a man to accept defeat without seeking revenge.

“It's best if you do not know where she goes. We have affiliated convents, even in Spain and Italy. We will find a safe place for her, where she can live in peace and in service to God.” The abbess gave the captain a level look. “Say your goodbyes, Tréville.”

She turned and left Sister Camille with Tréville, urging Athos to walk a few steps with her along the wall. “Monsieur Athos,” she addressed the lieutenant. “I have seen the shadows that linger in your soul. Do not let them grow. You may have told me your life story, but I am capable of hearing those things people do not speak about. You have suffered and tried to make atonement for what clouds your soul. Rely on your brothers for help if the darkness gets too close. They will be there for you.”

Athos was stunned but tried to not let it show, and he had always been good at that. He cocked his head so he could look the nun straight in the face. “I will bear in mind what you said.” He inclined his head slightly. “And thank you for what you have done for our captain.” 

The nun smiled up at Athos. “He is a good man and deserved it. As did Sister Camille. God bless you and your brothers, Athos.”

They turned and walked the short distance back to where Tréville was waiting. The nun who had been sent to retrieve another horse had returned and the captain now had both his and the spare horse's reins in his hands. Sister Camille had stepped back into the courtyard with the other nun and waited for their abbess to bid adieu to the Musketeers. 

Mother Jeanne stopped in front of Tréville and when she spoke, it was in Gascon. “ _Déu t'acompanyi, capità._ ” 

Tréville was surprised and touched to hear the Mother Superior speak in his local language. “ _Adéu mare superiora, i més profund agraïment._ ” He bowed to her. “ _No puc agrair prou._ ”

The abbess stepped back and Tréville mounted his horse. He glanced one last time through the gate to where the two nuns stood, then nodded once more to the abbess and turned his horse, tugging the spare horse with him. Athos caught up with him and after a short trot they spurred their horses into a canter. 

When they reached the place where they had parted with the other Musketeers, they found Porthos and Aramis deeply asleep and d'Artagnan on watch. Porthos, d'Artagnan declared, had complained about nausea and dizziness and Aramis had sent him to his bedroll, which the big man had accepted without complaint. Aramis then had tried to argue with d'Artagnan about who would keep first watch, but had very soon realized that he was in no state to argue since his gash had become infected and had already caused a slight fever. So he had rolled himself up beside Porthos and both men had soon been asleep. 

Athos watched both of them fondly, thankful that no greater harm had been done to them. However, he had already noted to himself to speak with Aramis once they were back in Paris. It had been prompted by a remark the marksman had uttered on their way to the convent. Something about his own stupidity and that he should in future restrain himself from cursing in Spanish or speaking in Spanish at all, to avoid such incidents. This did not sit well with Athos. Incidents such as this hurt Aramis deeper than he admitted and always tried to make his brothers believe. 

Athos and Tréville held a short discussion about the further shifts for night watch, both men having no intention of waking Aramis or Porthos, and in the early morning hours Athos relieved d'Artagnan from watch. He was glad to see the young man immediately fall asleep after he had curled up beside Porthos. Athos had no intention of waking Tréville either. The captain surely had not gotten much sleep over the last couple of days, what with a night in the chatelet and the strenuous day of the trial before the king, he could certainly use a few extra hours of undisturbed sleep. 

When Aramis stirred, Athos decided to wake the rest as well, so they could make their way back to Paris. 

After an uneventful ride back they reached Paris in the evening. Tréville had parted from them to report the safe return of the king's cousin to the convent. However, he had agreed to meet the Inseparables in the _Vaisseau Vert_ for a couple of drinks, once he had got an overview of the state of affairs at the garrison. 

The Musketeers had made their way back to the garrison, all glad to get out of the saddle. They had dismounted, handed over the horses to the stable boy and taken seats at the table. Serge immediately showed up and offered a late meal. They gladly accepted the offer and filled their empty stomachs. After a short while, Aramis excused himself to see to his wound and rose from the bench, reminding Porthos that he, too, should have his wound cleaned and wrapped up again. 

Athos silently rose as well and followed Aramis to the quarters. When the marksman turned and raised a questioning brow, they had a short wordless conversation, and Aramis gave in. Of course it would be easier to have help with the wound, even though the needlework of the _comte_ was no match for Aramis' excellent work. But the marksman also needed some herbs for the fever, and if Athos was willing to run some errands for him, Aramis was content with it. 

After the task was done they had hauled Porthos over for a careful inspection of his wound, which had shown no further need for a bandage and Porthos even claimed that his dizziness was gone. Almost. Though the big man had not added the 'almost' when he had voiced his well-being to his brothers. It was nothing a couple of tankards of beer could not solve. 

*********

Athos was well into his second bottle of wine when Tréville finally showed up at the tavern and dragged a stool over to sit by his men. Aramis caught a passing maidservant and ordered another bottle of wine. 

“I think we have all reasons to raise a glass or two in celebration for the successful failure of our dear cardinal. God knows the opportunities are rare,” Aramis proclaimed. “And with the help of God and the good sisters of the Ursuline convent, the just have prevailed.”

After the maid had brought the wine and all goblets had been refilled, Aramis soothed his mustache in an elegant way and raised his goblet. “To our captain, who has recently revealed a romantic heart! Who'd have thought?”

“I really appreciate what you all did for me. Not many would go to such lengths for their commanding officer,” Tréville said, and then, squinting his eyes, added “But if you ever think this will help you in neglecting your duties you can think once more, messieurs. Next time any of you fail to report for morning muster he will be mucking the stables for a whole month!” 

“Would never think of it, captain” d'Artagnan muttered. They all really had helped willingly and without hesitation, would do so again if needed, but count on Tréville to show his gratitude the way he just had!

“And we have our captain back.” Porthos grinned from ear to ear. “Santé!” With that he tossed down his drink. 

Athos clinked glasses with Aramis and slapped d'Artagnan on the back, the young man still looking a bit confused about the words from their captain. “Drink, d'Artagnan, we must exploit the benevolence of our captain as long as it lasts!”

The confusion on the Gascon's face grew even more, and the men around the table burst into laughter. 

Tréville gave each of the men around the table a level look, before he spoke again. “Thank you for your help, messieurs. It is most appreciated.” And he took a deep gulp from his goblet.

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak Gascon, but wanted to add something in the language of Gascony, so I used Catalan (which I don't speak as well, but I found a translation website for it). Catalan is spoken in Catalonia/Spain and in parts of Catalonia Gascon is spoken as well; both languages are Gallo-Romance languages and have their origin in Latin, so I thought this would be the closest to Gascon I can find. I am not sure if the translations are right; if you speak Catalan and see any mistakes please point them out to me and forgive me for misusing the language.  
> Translation should read: 'God be with you, captain.' - 'Farewell, mother superior, my deepest gratitude.' – 'I cannot thank you enough.'
> 
> The title of the story is a translation of the inscription on the gravestone of Prussian Major General Johann Friedrich Adolf von der Marwitz (“Wählte Ungnade, wo Gehorsam nicht Ehre brachte”).

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work of fan fiction. The characters and settings are the property of BBC One and BBC America, the story itself is mine. No copyright infringement has been perpetrated for financial gain.


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